


Failed Application of Thought

by RuArcher (Coriesocks)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_erised, Dad Draco Malfoy, Dad Harry Potter, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Issues, Fluff, H/D Erised 2018, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Single Parents, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/pseuds/RuArcher
Summary: Draco sighed, knowing he would live to regret his next words, “I’m willing to do anything it takes to get Scorpius the life he deserves, even if that means pretending to be madly in love with you, you intolerable buffoon.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerakrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/gifts).



> I was so glad to receive you as a recipient, Nerakrose, because you listed some of my all time favourite tropes and HCs so I really hope you enjoy this little fic! Many, many thanks to my wonderful alpha, Jo, who gave me the confidence to proceed with my plan and kept me sane throughout, and to my darling beta Keyflight790 who had to suffer my panicked screaming at random intervals. You’re both amazing and I’m eternally grateful.

_Mr Malfoy,  
Thank you for your interest in our school. We regret to inform you that we are currently over-subscribed and therefore cannot accept your son's application.  
We wish you every luck in finding somewhere suitable for him.  
Warm regards,  
Agatha Pole,   
Headmistress,   
Athelstan's Primary School for the Magically Inclined_

Draco snarled and tossed the rejection letter to one side, not caring where it fell. He'd pick it up and file it properly later when he was in a better frame of mind. It wasn't the first rejection letter he'd received, but it was the one that cut the deepest. Not only was Athelstan's reasonably local, but it was also by far the best wizarding primary school in the UK. He'd not only applied to British schools, though; he'd even applied to a few in France, one in Switzerland, and two in Scandinavia but unfortunately, his reputation had travelled farther than he ever could have imagined. He'd foolishly managed to convince himself that the delay in response from Athelstan's meant his application had been successful—all the other schools he'd applied to hadn't wasted any time sending out their rejections—so the dashed hope only added to the pain of rejection. 

Draco's hand trembled as he picked up his glass of wine, and he had to concentrate to make sure he didn't grip it too hard. The last thing he wanted to do was shatter it and get red wine all over his antique desk, although it would round off his shitty day rather fantastically. He thought of Scorpius, so young and innocent, sleeping soundly in his room upstairs, and screwed his eyes shut to keep the frustrated tears at bay. He felt sick from his desperate desire to protect this small, sweet child from the world. How was it fair that these schools were punishing his son for mistakes he himself had made? Scorpius was just a child!

Before the birth of his son, Draco's sole focus had been on rebuilding his life and reputation. He didn't crave power like his father, he just wanted to be treated like a person, with feelings, hopes, aspirations—not a criminal who didn't deserve a second chance. After completing his house arrest and gaining true freedom for the first time in his life, he'd drifted aimlessly, knowing he needed to do something to lessen his guilt, but unsure what that could be. Then Astoria convinced him to sign up to the Auror Academy after he'd mentioned in passing an idle boyhood dream he'd had of becoming an Auror. It seemed like the perfect way to atone for his sins and give something back to the society he helped almost destroy.

It quickly became apparent that no one wanted him there. Despite graduating from the academy at the top of his class, they had since confined him to desk duty. _‘This is just temporary. Wouldn't want to upset anyone, now, would we?'_ Robards had said with a patronising smile while Draco stared grimly at his newly assigned cubicle, hidden away in the back of the office. He was still in that same cubicle five years later, and _still_ only a junior Auror.

Since Scorpius' birth, his priorities had changed. Everything he did was for his son, and all he wanted was for the world to treat his boy as it would any other child. So, he suffered through his soul-destroying job, politely putting up with either being ignored or treated like Erumpent dung and bit his tongue whenever anyone tried to get a rise out of him. It wore him down little by little every day knowing that no one really cared if he was at work or not. In his more morose moods, he was tempted not to show up at all to see if anyone noticed and Floo-called or owled to check if he was okay, but he knew that Robards was itching for any reason to sack him or get him shifted to the bowels of the DMLE, so he never dared put a foot wrong. He'd do nothing to jeopardise Scorpius' future.

Of course, Harry sodding Potter had made it to Senior after not even three years on the job. Draco had seen his test scores—there was no way he'd have climbed so far up the ladder if everyone wasn't so blinded by his reputation. Academically, he was distinctly average in most areas and yet because of his name, he'd landed a promotion and a large corner office, while Draco was stuck in a cramped cubicle in the arse end of the office. Where Harry got raids and chases and life-or-death duels, Draco had filing and organising and correcting the grammar on other people's reports. Apparently, those in charge thought it would upset the public if he was too visible. _'It's not that we don't trust you,'_ Robards had said once, _'it's that the public doesn't. My hands are tied.'_. Draco hadn't bothered to push after that. He knew it was crap, and he suspected they were hoping he'd leave of his own volition if they made the job dull enough, but they had severely underestimated how stubborn he could be. So he'd dug in, carved out a little niche for himself in the Auror department, and turned up to work every day without complaint just to spite them, never daring to put a foot wrong or even nudge up against any boundaries. He was probably the only Auror who'd never so much as bent a rule—and what had it got him?

He finished the last third of his drink in one gulp, tilting his head back and tossing it down his throat. The alcohol burned unpleasantly as it travelled downward and he felt the beginnings of indigestion curdling in his gut. He wondered what Astoria would think of him now—sent to drink by an uppity headmistress who no doubt counted Umbridge as one of her muses. Knowing her, she'd probably tell him to stop moping and do something proactive. She'd always hated it when he wallowed. Unfortunately, knowing what he _should_ do and actually doing it were two completely different things. He fumbled for a notepad and pen in his desk drawer—Muggle stationery was something of guilty pleasure these days—then jotted down a reminder to write to Astoria in the morning. They may not share a home anymore, but he still counted her as one of his best friends, and her wife was always good for a dose of American optimism when he was feeling sorry for himself or angry at the world.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour and Draco listened, counting off each shuddering _bong_. Ten o'clock. Earlier than his usual bedtime but he couldn't be bothered to stay up. He knew if he did, he'd only end up finishing the bottle of wine. Getting drunk alone while feeling so out of sorts didn't hold as much appeal as it used to. It reminded him too much of when his father would shut himself up in this very study with a bottle of expensive Firewhisky and emerge hours, or sometimes days, later smelling like a pub floor. Draco really didn't want to do anything that made him more like his father. It was bad enough they had to look so alike.

He scratched his hands over his face, his fingernails rasping over his day-old stubble. Being an adult was a hard, thankless task. Heaving a sigh, he pushed up from his desk. His bed was calling him, as was the Muggle paperback he'd picked up from a charity shop near work. It was another murder mystery, but he couldn't help it—Muggle crime-solving techniques were fascinating and he dreamed of one day implementing some of them at the DMLE (if they ever paid him any attention). As he strode around his desk, he caught sight of the rejection letter from Athelstan's and his heart sunk anew. He'd never been more ashamed of his name; a name he'd been brought up to value above anything else. He scrawled a quick note under his earlier one to remind himself to ask his mother how to go about finding a tutor. As much as he hated the idea of Scorpius being home-schooled until he reached Hogwarts age, he didn't have many options left. If all the tutors rejected him, then he'd have to send him to a Muggle primary school. His mother had offered to tutor Scorpius herself, but the thought of Scorpius being around his parents—well, his father more so than his mother—for so long while so impressionable filled Draco with horror.

He snatched the letter off the floor, and with a frustrated sigh, filed it neatly away with all the others in a depressingly beige folder that he kept on the bookshelf by his desk. As gratifying as it would feel to throw it into the fire and watch the flames eat those horribly patronising words, he wanted to keep it for his records. Maybe one day he'd feel strong enough to appeal their decision. With one last look to check everything was in its rightful place, Draco put out the lamps with a wave of his wand and slunk out of his study. He was confident Blippy would bank the fire and tidy away his glass like she always did.

The portraits muttered and glared down at him as he wound through the empty hallways toward his bedroom. He'd completely gutted and redecorated the Manor following the war, but for some reason—misguided family loyalty perhaps—he'd been unable to get rid of the portraits. As a compromise, he'd stuck the most disagreeable of his descendants in little-used areas, but since none of them were particularly friendly, he still had to deal with judgment almost daily. He'd made sure to remove all portraits from Scorpius' suite though—no need to make him suffer their disapproval as he had throughout his childhood. He wanted Scorpius to have the best chance to grow up well-adjusted. 

He paused outside Scorpius' room, resting one hand on the door for a moment to calm himself, before slowly easing the door open so he could see his sleeping child. He knew people would say he was biased, but Scorpius really was perfect. He was such a bright, inquisitive boy, and he found joy in everything. Draco's mother called him her little ray of sunshine, and as twee as that was, it was true. Scorpius brightened a room with his presence. So how could these jobsworth head teachers and school boards reject him purely because he was unfortunate enough to have been cursed with the Malfoy name? 

He approached the bed and carefully straightened out the blankets—Scorpius was as active in sleep as he was when awake and always managed to tangle his legs up in the duvet or twist around on the bed so he was laying with his legs dangling off the side. With a tender hand, Draco brushed the soft, blond hair from Scorpius' forehead.

"Please don't grow up to resent me, Scorpius. I'm doing the best I can," he whispered, gently pressing a kiss to his temple.

Scorpius snuffled, and burrowed deeper in his blankets, but didn't wake. Draco watched him a little while longer, letting the peaceful rhythm of Scorpius' breaths smooth out some of his tension.

Somehow he'd get Scorpius the normal life he deserved. He'd do anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco stepped out of the Floo into the atrium at the Ministry with as much grace as he could muster, subtly dusting off his trousers as he strode away from the fireplace. He was grateful he hadn’t spent the rest of the evening drinking away his irritation, but he still felt awful. It hadn’t helped his mood that Scorpius had been so teary when he’d left for work. He’d clung to Draco like a small, blond koala and wailed solidly for ten minutes while Draco had tried to console him. Eventually Blippy had lured him away with the promise of baked goods, but his son’s whimpers still hung over him like a dark cloud. He wondered, sometimes, if he’d coddled Scorpius too much and made him too sensitive, and worried what that might mean for him as he grew up and realised the world didn’t look too kindly upon his name. After all, Draco could only shield him from it for so long. He had desperately hoped that Scorpius wouldn’t have to suffer for his family’s mistakes, but, as the growing pile of rejection letters proved, forgiveness was evidently a long way off.

He barely paid any attention to his surroundings as he made his way through the Ministry—he found things went much more smoothly when he didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Before he knew it he was trudging down the long, dark corridor towards the pair of large wooden doors that marked the entrance of the Auror Headquarters. He had come to loathe those doors over the years. They loomed over him threateningly, and he had to pause in order to steel himself before pushing through.

The noise hit him like a physical force the second he stepped over the threshold. It was always like this at the start of the day—like a school classroom before the teacher entered. Draco usually tried to arrive before the worst of the rowdiness started, but the time spent consoling Scorpius that morning had caused him to be later than usual. At least Robards would be calling order soon to begin distributing the day’s assignments.

Draco smiled politely at the Welcome Witch sitting just inside the entrance and handed his wand over for inspection. She monitored everyone who entered or left Auror Headquarters, but only Draco had to suffer through the daily shame of a wand inspection and a full-body scan to check for traces of dark magic. For most Aurors, the wand inspection appeared to happen completely at random and they only got subjected to the scan once every couple of weeks (or once every month or so if your name was Harry Potter), but Draco wasn’t so fortunate. He was routinely checked _every single day_ —not that it made a blind bit of difference to how people treated him. At least Beryl had the decency to look apologetic when she was on the desk, unlike Clara who always seemed disappointed that she hadn't caught him trying to smuggle dark artefacts into the office.

As Draco made his way towards his cubicle a few people nodded their heads in greeting, but most of his colleagues were so involved in their own conversations that they barely noticed him pass through. It used to annoy him that half the office pretended he didn't exist, but he had come to appreciate it now. At least he didn't have to put up with people constantly popping into his cubicle for a chat, or trying to lure him into conversations about their children or pets. It was better this way. He didn't work to make friends, he worked so he could try and do something worthwhile with his life, to provide a good example for his son. So, he kept his head high and refused to be cowed. The vast majority might not want him there, but he knew that, just like them, he had earned his right to work there—most of them were probably just bitter that he’d scored so much higher than them.

He snaked around the cubicles, ducking under the occasional internal memo that zipped past, and silently navigated past groups of chatting Aurors. Without fail, Draco always walked the same route to his desk. It wasn’t the fastest route, nor the most direct, but it was carefully calculated to avoid the busiest parts of the large open-plan office and the desks of those Aurors who were more open with their dislike of him. It was just a happy coincidence that this circuitous route took him past the offices of the senior Aurors. Most senior Aurors didn’t get their own office until they’d put in quite a few years of service, but as with most things, that rule didn’t apply to Senior Auror Harry Potter. He shared the office with his partner, Johnson, who Draco vaguely recognised from Hogwarts, but he couldn’t recall ever having spoken to her. Whenever Draco passed by, she always seemed to be laughing uproariously at something Harry had said so he wondered if she’d taken spell damage to the head, because he didn’t recall Harry ever being _that_ hilarious at school.

When he'd first started as an Auror, Draco had been all set to continue his previous antagonistic relationship with Harry, especially after finding out that he had been promoted to Senior Auror after only a couple of years service. Then Harry had turned out to be one of the only people in the office who didn't treat him with outright disgust, and he'd had to reevaluate how things stood between them. When Harry's second son was born within a month of Scorpius, the shared pain of working on no sleep meant their relationship became almost convivial. It was strange to think that out of everyone he worked with, Harry was the only person even close to being someone he’d hesitantly call a friend. 

Draco's cubicle, if it could strictly be called that, was in the corner farthest from the entrance, near the doors to the evidence lockup and case archives. When he'd first been assigned the desk, it had been quite a dark and grim place, not having the benefit of any of those fake windows the Ministry was so keen on, and every surface was covered in a thick layer of dust. It was clear it hadn't been used as anything more than as a place to dump broken office furniture and abandoned paperwork for a long time. The area behind the desk had been stacked with filing cabinets that were overflowing with paperwork, loose flyers, evidence folders, and takeaway menus. Then, the whole unsightly mess had then been shielded from the rest of the office by the strategic placement of a handful of rickety, broken bookshelves. It was, in short, a steaming pile of shit, but it was Draco's pile of shit, and he didn't have to share the space with anyone else, so he thanked Merlin for small mercies.

He had since reorganised the filing cabinets, thrown out or fixed the broken furniture, sorted and alphabetised the impressive collection of books that had been hidden under the grime, and thoroughly _Scourgified_ every square inch of the cubicle so it was now a tidy little space. He even had a small collection of succulents on top of the filing cabinets which helped to brighten the space and tending to them gave his quieter days some degree of purpose. The bookshelves, which turned out to be quite smart once he'd cleaned and fixed them, now housed his collection of books, journals, and articles about magical criminology, and created an effective barrier that shielded his corner from the rabble in the rest of the office. He was under no illusion as to why they'd given him this particular desk, but he would never give them the satisfaction of hearing him complain. It had come such a long way from the dank, dirty space it had been when he'd first been assigned it, that every day when he arrived, he couldn't help but feel a little proud about how it had turned out.

Once at his desk, Draco allowed himself a minute or two to just appreciate the relative serenity of the space before tackling the day’s work. Almost immediately, he heard the bell calling all Aurors to the morning debrief and didn’t even attempt to stifle his groan as he pushed up from his chair. Robards rarely assigned him anything new during this daily torture, but even so, he diligently attended each and every day, always sitting at the front with his notebook open and ready. Occasionally he’d get given something if no one else wanted it—usually scouring through years of invoices, or customer records, or something equally as mind-numbing—but only if it didn't involve interacting with the public in any way. They couldn't possibly inflict Auror Malfoy on the wizarding populace—frail old ladies would be fainting left, right, and centre.

The day continued at its usual dull pace, and Draco tried to put the pile of rejection letters out of his mind by focusing on a cold case he’d recently pulled from the case archives. Sheila from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office popped by around mid-morning, breaking up the boredom slightly, to bring him a piece of flapjack and tell him what she’d got up to on holiday. She was one of the few people who actually spoke to him about things other than work, and he enjoyed their chats, even though she smelled a bit pepperminty and had a very distracting hairy mole on her chin. She was a kind, grandmotherly figure who had taken a shine to him for some reason, but he was glad for her company. It made the day a little less lonely knowing not everyone actively hated him.

Several other people visited over the course of the day, all wanting help with paperwork or needing him to locate an obscure piece of evidence in the lockup or demanding he pull every case file from the last fifty years where the prime suspect's name began with the letter Q. At some point over the last five years, Draco had become the unofficial secretary for the office, and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because of his proximity the evidence lockup and case archives, or maybe it was his excellent penmanship, grammar, and encyclopedic knowledge of rules and procedures. Or, and he suspected this was the most likely reason, he was the only one who never told anyone to fuck off and do their own bloody work. He didn't mind so much; he'd put a great deal of effort into re-organising and re-cataloguing the storage rooms so he preferred that people came to him rather than wander in willy-nilly and ruin his system.

A few desks away, a burst of raucous laughter broke through the low murmur of conversation and caused him to lose his place in the ledger he was scouring. It sounded an awful lot like Finnigan was telling another one of his ridiculous anecdotes about an arrest going wrong. He had so many of these stories, Draco was amazed he managed to keep his job, but then, that was just how it was for most Aurors—as long as they didn't attract too many complaints and kept catching the bad guys, Robards was happy. Draco sighed and massaged his temples with his fingertips. He was trying to look for patterns in this latest cold case, but he kept losing his train of thought. How could he concentrate on work when all he could think about was Scorpius? He was just about ready to give up and make himself a coffee when a familiar, scruffy head appeared around the corner.

“Hey, Draco,” Harry said brightly. He had a dark green file clasped in one hand and he waved it hopefully at Draco. More paperwork. Great. Would he say no, though? Unlikely. It was Harry, after all.

He carefully marked his place and closed the file, then leant forward on his elbows, hands clasped before him. “Afternoon, Potter,” he drawled, hoping to project an air of bored indifference despite this being the most interesting thing to happen all day (aside from Sheila’s flapjacks).

“So…I was wondering if you could help me,” Harry said, beaming at him, radiating hope. Draco sighed inwardly. Just because he knew he was going to immediately give in to any and all requests made by Harry Potter, it didn’t mean he had to be gracious about it.

“Well? Make it quick. Some of us like to, you know, _work_ while at work.” He hadn’t meant to snap, but Harry had an uncanny ability to force it out of him.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay. Well, I was wondering—well, hoping, really—if you could help me go through this purchase history and see if you can spot anything dodgy or a bit off? I’ve had a quick look through and nothing leaps out, but…it’s for a potions supplier and you’re, like, the man who knows potions so…” Harry trailed off and Draco tried to tell himself to say no. He hated combing through ledgers, and the file in Harry’s hand looked like it contained more than a few pages.

“Of course, I’ll take a look.” _Shut up, Draco!_ “When would you like it for?” 

Harry’s face lit up, like the excitable man-puppy he was sometimes. “Brilliant! Thanks! If you’re free this afternoon, I can come by and go through what I’ve got so far with you? If you like?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Sure. I’ll be here until five, but then I have to go home. I like to spend a little time with Scorpius before he goes to bed.”

Harry brightened further at the mention of Draco’s son. “Everything okay? Oh, did you get him into a school? I remember you mentioning something about applying a few weeks ago.”

Draco gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to let Harry know about the rejections because he’d just get that awful pitying expression on his face, but he couldn’t think up a lie with those green eyes boring into him. “Unfortunately, Athelstan’s was oversubscribed so I’ll have to look into getting a tutor,” he said, hoping Harry would quickly drop the subject and start rambling about Quidditch like he usually did. Instead, his face fell and his eyebrows drew together.

“What? Really? Did they say that? I just owled in Albus’ application last night and they accepted him right away.”

Draco bristled. Of course, Harry fucking Potter could ignore deadlines, shoot off a last minute owl and get his son into the best primary school in the country. “Perhaps the son of the Savior is a tad more welcome than the son of a Death Eater,” he ground out. He could see his knuckles whitening from where he was gripping his hands together so tightly so he forced himself to take a few deep breaths and relax. 

“Ex-Death Eater,” Harry growled, “and what sort of crap is that? Are you just going to take it? Let them treat you like that? It’s been twelve years!”

He winced at Harry’s raised voice. The last thing he wanted was to draw everyone’s attention to his little corner. “What can I do?” he replied calmly. “They don’t want to be associated with my family, so that’s their choice.”

“No, Draco. It’s wrong. You can’t let them get away with treating you like that. Or treating Scorpius like that. He’s only four, for fuck’s sake!”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to let his temper get the better of him. It wouldn't do to get caught shouting at a senior Auror, even one as irritating as Harry. Why was everything a righteous crusade with him? "It's not worth it. Please, just drop it. I'll find Scorpius a tutor, or perhaps he can move to America to be with his mother.”

“You— It’s not right,” Harry muttered under his breath. “It’s not right.”

He stalked away from Draco's desk with a face like thunder and a dangerous glint in his eye. Draco groaned and closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. There was no way Harry was going to drop this. He could feel the dull throb of a headache coming on, and wanted nothing more than to go home and lie in a darkened room for a bit. He wouldn't though—he would work without complaint until exactly five pm, then he would go home and vent his frustrations by going for a run around the grounds. Merlin, it was exhausting pretending not to give a shiny shit about anything.

———

Harry never did turn up that afternoon to go through his paperwork, and Draco tried not to feel too disappointed. It wasn’t as if he’d been looking forward to spending time with the irritating git while doing his work for him, but at least he was easy on the eye and had a pleasing scent, unlike most of their colleagues. His absence, however, only added to Draco’s unease and he desperately hoped Harry hadn’t stormed off to do something that would make Draco’s life harder.

———

“I’ve got it!” Harry announced, striding determinedly into Draco’s cubicle the next morning and slapping both hands down on Draco’s desk triumphantly. 

Draco blinked, startled by his sudden appearance. It wasn’t that he was unused to seeing Harry turn up in his cubicle out of the blue, but he didn’t normally show up with such bluster.

“What have you got?” he asked carefully. He had a strong suspicion that Harry’s arrival wasn’t anything to do with the case he’d asked Draco to help with. 

“I know how you can get Scorpius into Athelstan’s!” Harry announced proudly, looking as if he’d just proclaimed he’d solved world hunger, rather than just meddled in Draco’s affairs.

“What?” Draco hissed, determined not to cause a scene in the office. “I asked you to drop it! What have you done?” He was filled with horror at the thought of Harry throwing his name around to get his way. Didn’t he realise that people would automatically assume Draco had cooked up some nefarious plot and cursed Harry Potter into doing his bidding? 

Harry grinned and shook his head, entirely too unconcerned by the minor heart attack Draco was experiencing. “I haven’t _done_ anything. Yet.”

“ _‘Yet’_?” Draco repeated, pinning Harry with an unimpressed glare. “Look, I know you mean well, and that you can’t help flying in and saving the day, but I don’t need your help. I can fight my own battles, thank you very much.” 

“Just hear me out, okay? So, last night, I had a look through all the rules for applying to Athelstan’s and I _think_ I’ve found a loophole. Do you want to hear it?” Harry looked so enthusiastic that Draco couldn’t help but nod his head. He really just wanted to forget the whole thing—he’d spent the evening looking up tutors and composing owls to some of the more promising ones. As much as he’d wanted Scorpius to go to a primary school and make friends with children his own age, it clearly wasn’t meant to be. 

“So, it turns out, siblings get an automatic place!” 

Draco stared at him waiting for the loophole, but evidently, that was it, because Harry just stared back at him looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Potter, as it seems to have escaped your notice, Scorpius doesn’t _have_ any siblings. Unless you happen to know of any children I’ve unknowingly sired?”

“That’s why we need to pretend to be together! Like married or bonded, or maybe just engaged, I don’t know, something serious, though, because—”

Draco goggled and emitted a pathetic whimper as he almost choked on his tongue. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he spluttered.

"Engaged or married. Yeah, I know it's a little bit extreme, but Albus has already been accepted, and James is in year one so if I send in an application for Scorpius and say he's my soon-to-be stepson, then they'll have to let him in, right?”

“You— it’s— I— What?” Draco couldn’t find any words. Harry Potter wanted to pretend to be his partner just so that Scorpius could get a place at a school? Was this an elaborate setup for a prank?

“Just think about it, okay? What could go wrong?” 

“Plenty, Potter. Plenty of things could go wrong. The main one being, what happens when the school finds out? Which of course, is going to happen because why the _fuck_ would they believe you and I are in a relationship. And what about the boys? Won’t they get a bit confused when everyone thinks they’re brothers? No. This is a ridiculous idea and you are absolutely out of your mind.”

Harry seemed to deflate before him. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. It’s a stupid idea. I just think it’s really wrong of the school to discriminate against your son. They don’t even know him. If we could just get him enrolled, give him a chance to prove himself…”

“Potter, why are you doing this? Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and looked down at the desk, running his finger along a small crack in the grain. “You know me. I can’t help _helping_. And I didn’t fight in a war so that people could continue with this sort of discriminatory crap.”

Draco felt his resolve waver. Would it really be _so_ bad to pretend to be in a relationship with Harry Potter? It was only for the sake of the application form—they probably wouldn’t need to do anything differently. As long as Harry remembered not to get photographed out on dates with other people. Merlin. Was he really considering this? He glanced at the picture of Scorpius on his desk, and the little blond boy grinned and waved a sticky hand at him.

“Just so you know, I think this is a stupid idea and it’ll never work,” he said, not wanting Harry’s over-sized ego to get any larger.

Harry perked up, leaning over the desk. “…but…?”

“But,” Draco sighed, knowing he would live to regret his next words, “I’m willing to do anything it takes to get Scorpius the life he deserves, even if that means pretending to be madly in love with you, you intolerable buffoon.”

“Brilliant!” Harry cried, a delighted grin splitting his face in half.

“Hold on. Before you get too carried away, we’re not pretending to be married. If my parents found out I got married without inviting them to the wedding, they’d kill me.”

“Okay, okay. No problem. Engaged it is. We can hash out the details later—it’s not as if anyone needs to know, anyway. Only the school, and they’re not going to care if we know each other’s favourite colour or not.”

Harry produced a fresh application form from within his robes and together they filled it in. Draco only felt a little guilty, watching Harry sign his name at the bottom. He put aside all thoughts about what could happen if the lie was uncovered, and tried to focus on the positives. Scorpius was going to get into a school, and not just any school: the _best_ school in Britain.

“I’ll go get this sent off then,” Harry said, neatly folding the form and stuffing it into an envelope he’d swiped from Draco’s desk. “I’ll let you know what they say, but, well, they can’t say no, can they?”

“Of course not. Who in their right mind says no to the Boy Who Lived?”

Harry grinned and flipped Draco off as he backed out of the cubicle. Draco couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a huge mistake.


	3. Chapter 3

When Draco had been under house arrest, he’d been allowed visitors for a couple of hours once every four weeks, so Pansy, Blaise, and occasionally Millicent, Theo, Greg, or Daphne would turn up, and they’d drink tea, eat biscuits, and keep Draco abreast of what was going on in the outside world. Once he’d completed his sentence, the monthly sedate tea-and-biscuit meet-ups devolved into much longer, much more drunken affairs, and the tradition stuck. Even years later, one Saturday in four, whoever was available would turn up at the Manor and they’d drink too much, eat too much, and for a few blissful hours, they would all forget about the rest of the world.

The Saturday meet-ups were what kept Draco going when everything else felt like it was falling apart around him. He looked forward to them all month because aside from his son and his house-elf, he generally didn’t speak to people outside of work, and had very few people he’d call friends. This month's meet-up was especially needed because it felt like his and Harry's flimsy plans were already unravelling. Draco had tried not to worry when they didn't immediately hear back from the school, but it was hard when he constantly expected the worst. He'd hoped that with Harry's name attached, a reply would be swift like it had been when Harry had sent in Albus' application, but it seemed hatred of the Malfoy name was enough to overpower even the Potter association. So, he tried to convince himself it was a good thing that they were taking their time with the application, and he tried not to think about how time was steadily ticking by and he still had no firm solution for Scorpius' education. On several occasions he had wanted to tell Harry they should call the whole thing off before it got any further out of hand, but every time he ran into him at work, Harry would grin at him, and give him a thumbs up or a little wave, and it was so nice feeling like he was on the inside of something for a change, he kept his mouth shut.

They were in the Grand Drawing room, which didn’t get much use outside of the monthly meet-ups because it remained hideously ostentatious even after Draco’s complete redecoration of the Manor. He would have been happy sitting around the breakfast table in the kitchen, but Pansy insisted on glamour—she said it helped her pretend that life wasn’t a complete shit heap sometimes, and Draco couldn’t argue with that. She was currently draped along a chaise longue, her already-short black dress ridden up so high, Draco could see her knickers, and her Louboutins kicked off to one side. Blaise had taken over Draco’s favourite wing chair, as usual. He’d commissioned it for the family living room, but then had been so afraid of Scorpius’ sticky fingers ruining it, he’d had to put it somewhere Scorpius would never go.

“So, Draco,” Blaise drawled, a predatory look fixed on his beautiful face. Draco swallowed and prepared for the worst, knowing nothing good ever came out of Blaise’s mouth when he got that look. “Ginny tells me congratulations are in order,” he said with a smirk. 

Draco froze in the middle of topping up his wine glass. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. Had Harry blabbed about their… _agreement_?

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on his drink. He knew that Blaise often didn’t know as much as he led people to believe, but he was an expert at tricking people into filling in the gaps in his knowledge. All Draco had to do was act like he had no idea what Blaise was talking about, and Blaise would get eventually get bored. That was the theory, anyway.

“What’s this? You have something juicy on our little Draco? What’s he been up to now?” Pansy asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. She sat up and swung her legs to the floor, giving Draco another unwelcome glimpse of her lacy knickers. He muttered a brief prayer of thanks that she’d actually bothered with underwear for a change. “Did you finally get a shag? Oh, oh, wait! Have you knocked up any more lesbians?”

“No I have not!” Draco shouted back indignantly. “And you know full well I didn’t just ‘knock Astoria up’. We had an arrangement. At no time did my penis go anywhere near her…” He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Pansy’s crotch, “… _bits_.”

“Saying _vagina_ doesn’t make you any less gay you know. Straight isn’t catching,” Pansy said exasperatedly. “Anyway, I want to know what’s going on. Blaise, details please. Preferably before I’m too drunk to remember every excruciating detail.”

Draco glared stony-faced at his best friends and prayed Blaise was all talk and no substance. 

It wasn’t his day.

“Well,” Blaise said delightedly, rubbing his hands together for dramatic effect, “it seems our boy Draco has gone and gotten himself engaged to none other than the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelor, one Harry James Potter! Men and women the world over will be quivering with envy and weeping into their hats once this news gets out.”

“What!? No!” Pansy exclaimed, grabbing hold of Draco’s arm excitedly.

Draco dropped his head forward and silently cursed Harry for his big mouth. Why did he have to tell Ginny? Of course, she would tell Blaise, and everyone knew Blaise was one of the biggest gossips around.

“Draco,” Pansy said, squeezing his arm to the point of pain. “Is this true?”

“Yes—”

“Oh my gosh! Draco! All these years you’ve been crushing on him and you’re finally engaged? I didn’t even know you were dating!” She let go of his arm to whack him across the chest, then grabbed him again and pulled him into a suffocating hug, before releasing him again. “Why didn’t you tell me you two were dating?”

Draco grimaced and raked his fingers through his hair to try and restore it to order. “It’s not—”

“What? What’s going on? Why don’t you look happy about your teenage dream finally coming true? Why is Blaise giggling like that?” Pansy glared suspiciously from Draco to Blaise.

“If you would let me finish—”

“Fine! What?” she snapped.

Draco sighed and pursed his lips. He shot Blaise a look to urge him to stifle his sniggering, then turned back to Pansy. “We’re not really engaged. It’s a lie, which is _supposed_ to be a secret, by the way. Potter thought it would help get Scorpius accepted to Athelstan’s, but we’ve not heard back yet. He wasn’t _supposed_ to tell anyone else.”

“Hey, don’t hex the messenger,” Blaise said, feigning innocence. “Harry couldn’t exactly _not_ tell Ginny that their sons were getting a fake brother, could he?”

“Oh Merlin, this is such a mess.” Draco flopped forward and buried his face in his hands. “It hasn’t worked anyway. The school hasn’t even replied. They’re probably busy thinking up new and creative ways to tell me to fuck off. Ugh.”

“Wait,” Pansy said, interrupting Draco’s wallowing. “You’re telling me that you’ve willingly agreed to be Harry Potter’s fake fiancé? The boy you’ve been obsessed with since school? Does he know?”

Draco dragged his hands down his face and looked at her. “Does he know what?”

“That you’re in love with him?”

“I—I am not! That’s— What a— Don’t be ridiculous! I may think he’s moderately attractive—I mean, I have eyes, come on—but I am _not_ in love with him.”

Pansy arched an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t flinch or look away, no matter how much he wanted to. “Fine. Whatever, Draco. But what about Scorpius? What are you going to tell him?”

“I…” He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d been trying to answer that question himself since Harry first proposed the idea. “I’ll just tell him that Potter is a friend. He’s four—he doesn’t need to know specifics.”

Pansy looked like she wanted to say something else but then thought better of it. He could feel the disapproval radiating off her. She absolutely doted upon Scorpius, and she’d always been fiercely protective of Draco, so he knew she was probably just worried for them both. He couldn’t blame her—he was worried for them both too.

“I guess you’re going to have to start calling him Harry if you’re to be wed,” Blaise said, grinning broadly. He was enjoying this situation far more than necessary. “Unless that’s some weird kink the pair of you have.” He affected a higher pitched warble, “‘Oh, Malfoy, you’re so hot, please touch my wand,’ ‘Oh, Potter, you’re incorrigible, do me now!’” 

Draco stared in disbelief, unable to think of any suitable response, but then Pansy snorted, and he couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a ridiculous situation to be in, and he only had himself to blame, so what else could he do?

———

Scorpius was up before the sun, as usual, the next day so Draco found himself in the kitchen, sleepily making French toast while Scorpius told him in detail about a cat they’d both seen the other day. He let the words wash over him as he stood at the stove, waiting for the bread to crisp, ‘hmm-ing’ and nodding in what he hoped were appropriate places. Pansy and Blaise hadn’t left until the early hours of the morning, so not even a max-strength hangover potion could clear the fog from his head. It got harder and harder to pretend they were still young enough to stay up all night drinking. He knew he could have summoned Blippy to occupy Scorpius and allow himself time for a lie-in, but that felt like cheating. Besides, he enjoyed being able to spend this time with his son—even if that time was when most reasonable people were still in bed. There was always a chance he could get called into work for a filing emergency so he appreciated the quiet moments like this when he and Scorpius got them.

He must have lost himself to a daydream while staring intently at the frying pan because he almost missed the owl tapping on the kitchen window. It was only when Scorpius asked whether the owl would prefer French toast or a bit of half-chewed banana that he realised the _tap tap tap_ sound which had been niggling at the back of his mind was actually after his attention. In an effort to reduce the amount of hate-mail and suspicious packages from reaching him, owls weren't ordinarily let through the Manor's wards without being pre-approved, so it was unusual for one to turn up that he hadn't been expecting. He wondered briefly if it might be one of the schools he'd applied to, writing back to say they'd changed their mind.

When he opened the window, the owl hooted and swept imperiously into the room with a gust of frigid pre-dawn air. After a quick circuit of the kitchen, it dropped clumsily onto the table, upending a bowl of cereal Scorpius had abandoned half-eaten. Draco winced at the mess and reached out for the letter, turning it over to check it was definitely addressed to him. It tended to be only his parents who owled these days, and this definitely wasn’t their usual owl. It didn’t seem like a normal post-owl either—those were generally trained to know better than to land in the middle of someone’s breakfast table.

His breath caught in his throat as he instantly recognised the handwriting. It was from Harry. And there was only one reason Harry would be contacting him.

He steeled himself against the coming rejection, then with trembling hands, he opened the letter. It had to be a rejection. No one sent good news at this time in the morning.

_My dearest Draco,  
This letter arrived from the school yesterday afternoon, but work was mental so I didn’t see it until I got back at stupid o’clock this morning. Thought you’d want to see it soon as poss.   
I’m off all day today (Sunday) so do you want to get lunch or something? We can work out a game plan. The boys are with their Mum, but you can bring Scorpius if you like. We could try that new pretend American diner place that’s just opened near the DMLE, say 1 ish? Ron said the buffalo wings are to die for.  
Your darling fiancé, Harry xxx._

Draco bit back a smile at the terms of endearment Harry had used. He could just imagine his face as he wrote out the affectionate titles. Maybe everything would be okay after all. It didn’t feel too weird—just two maybe-friends having a laugh together. Completely normal. The note, while brief, didn’t seem too gloomy, so it was with slightly less anxiousness that he unfolded the letter from the school which Harry had included.

_Dear Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy,  
In order to assess master Malfoy's suitability for our school, we request that he attend an informal meeting with the Head and our reception class teacher. Ideally, we'd like to see all of you together since we find that children are more at ease when their family is present.   
Please respond with your availability and we’ll arrange a day for you to visit.  
May we also extend our congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials. I must say, you’ve managed very well to keep it out of the press so far, but I understand why you would not want this news spread.   
Yours faithfully,  
Agatha Pole,   
Headmistress,   
Athelstan’s Primary School for the Magically Inclined_

Draco struggled to maintain his composure. Scorpius was watching him with open curiosity and he didn’t want to alarm him, but it was taking every last bit of control he had not to scrunch up the letter and set it on fire. Okay, so it wasn’t a rejection, but it wasn’t an acceptance letter either. Why did they want Scorpius to jump through all these hoops when Albus had been accepted without question? It was so unfair!

And why did they want to meet him? Surely it was a test. They couldn’t believe that he was in a relationship with Harry Potter so they decided to summon them all for an ‘informal meeting’ so they could pry into their personal lives and uncover the lies. There was no way it could end well. He and Harry had no chemistry and their kids didn’t even know each other. How would they be able to make anyone believe they were a normal, happy family? 

He jotted down a quick reply agreeing to meet Harry despite his dubious choice of eatery—although he couldn’t deny his curiosity regarding the ‘buffalo wings’. Had Muggles bred a type of winged buffalo? How had this escaped his notice? After tying the missive to the owl’s leg, he let Scorpius give it a treat from the bowl on the windowsill and sent it on its way. He then tried to put it all out of his mind and focus on Scorpius, who was now itching to play with his post-owl play set since he’d demolished his French toast.

———

The restaurant was every bit as garish as Draco had anticipated. The exterior was covered with neon signage, which on its own would usually have been enough to put Draco off from entering, but then he stepped inside and saw all the Formica, US memorabilia, and checkerboard, and he almost wept. Road signs, sports equipment, hats, flags—so many flags! Draco shuddered. It was as if they’d tried to condense the entirety of the United States into one moderately sized restaurant in London and he thought he’d need a long lie down in a darkened room after lunch to recover.

He was seated in a booth with faux leather, padded seats, and an immovable table by a perky waitress whose enthusiasm for life rivalled Scorpius', but at least he had a good view of the door. He was relieved he'd decided to leave his son at home with Blippy in the end because he surely would have wanted to come back to this place again and again.

Draco had just shooed the overly-attentive waitress away for the second time when Harry finally showed up, his dark, woollen coat buttoned up to the top and a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, hiding that stubble which Draco spent far too long thinking about. He was only five minutes late, but Draco had been five minutes early so it felt like a lifetime, especially with the surroundings playing havoc with his sanity. Draco didn’t immediately alert him to his presence, choosing to watch Harry from afar as he cleared the rain from his glasses. His hair had been tamed slightly by the persistent drizzle, but then he brushed a hand through it and it returned to its usual unruly state. When Harry eventually spotted Draco, his face lit up as he gave a little wave, and Draco bit down on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from grinning. It was unfair how a man so bedraggled could look so attractive. It shouldn’t be allowed.

"Draco! I'm so sorry. Kids! What can you do?" Harry said, unwinding the scarf from his neck. He looked slightly out of breath and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. As he took off his coat and sat down, Draco got a waft of damp, wintery air and a woody cologne and he tried not to sniff the air like a dog to better appreciate the distinctly Harry-ish aroma.

“It’s fine,” Draco said, rearranging his cutlery so it was centred properly on the napkin. “I’d say I was enjoying the peace and quiet, but this establishment provides neither. What on Earth possessed you to pick this hellish place?”

Harry glanced around the restaurant, and ran a hand through his hair, his smile never wavering for a second. “I dunno. It’s happy? And Ron hasn’t stopped raving about the buffalo wings, so I thought, why not? Beats going for the usual. I love trying new places.”

Draco leaned across the table, signalling to Harry that he wanted to whisper something, and Harry looked momentarily surprised before meeting him halfway. “Is this a wizarding place?” he hissed.

“Oh, um, no?” He frowned, giving Draco’s question a bit more consideration. “I don’t think so? I mean, you can never be one hundred percent someone working in a place doesn’t have a touch of magic about them, but I’m pretty sure this place is Muggle. Why?”

“Buffalo don’t have wings,” Draco hissed back.

Harry looked at him for a moment, his jaw slack, before bursting out laughing. “Oh. Oh my word,” he said, catching his breath. “This is going to be brilliant. You are in for a taste explosion!”

At that point the waitress appeared, managing to look both hopeful and exasperated at the same time. When Draco didn’t shoo her away again, she relaxed a little and launched into a practised spiel about specials and menu alterations.

“Did you get a chance to look at the menu?” Harry asked as he browsed the laminated piece of card in front of him. Any place where the menus could be wiped clean was not anywhere Draco was particularly keen to eat.

“I couldn’t decide. Perhaps it would be best for you to pick since you’re so desperate for me to try something new.” He didn’t want to admit that he’d barely understood the menu. He decided he’d rather risk Harry ordering him something awful than pick at random himself—at least then he’d have someone to blame if the food was horrible. 

"Oh, this is going to be so good!" Harry said, tearing his attention from the menu briefly to grin at him. Draco's breath caught as he was hit with the full force of his perfect smile before Harry turned it onto the waitress. He sort of listened as Harry rattled off an order, but only half the words made sense, and anyway, he was too busy glaring at the way the waitress coyly put the end of her pen in her mouth and giggled every time Harry asked her a question.

They continued with small talk while they waited for their food to arrive, chatting about their sons, various people in the office (Draco was relieved to find out he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t abide Wallace’s grandstanding), and the weather. It was all rather pleasant and not at all what Draco had been expecting. 

But then the easy conversation dried up and they could only pretend to be absorbed in their meals for so long. This wasn’t just lunch with a friend. The whole fake relationship talk was hanging over Draco’s head, filling the atmosphere with an awkwardness completely at odds with the cheerful surroundings. He noticed Harry clear his throat and open his mouth as if to speak several times, but he always closed it again without speaking.

“I’ve been thinking,” Draco said, breaking the silence before it could grow any more uncomfortable. “Perhaps this whole thing is a bad idea.” He studied his plate, pulling the batter from an onion ring with his fork and pushing it around his plate. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Harry’s gaze.

Harry snapped his head up, frozen mid-chew. “What do you mean?” he said around his mouthful.

“You’ve read the letter. The school want to meet with us—they clearly already know the relationship is a sham, so they probably just want to humiliate me and my son. I’ll not put him through that. I can’t do that to him.” The knuckles of his hand around the fork were white so he took a breath and unclenched his fist, placing the fork carefully beside his plate.

"So you're just going to let them win?" Harry asked, his voice low and dangerous. He leant in across the table, green eyes fixed on Draco. 

“Yes!” Draco cried, smacking his hand on the table. He leant back as far as the booth would allow him and glared past the heads of the other patrons to a point out of the window—anything to avoid those eyes. “I’ve learnt to pick my battles, Potter, and this one is not worth the effort. I won’t let Scorpius be a pawn in some petty squabble,” he added quietly.

“Draco, if you let them win, what’s to stop them doing this to others? Someone who can’t afford to get their child tutored? What if they start discriminating against people for other reasons. We can’t let them do this.” Draco felt his resolve wavering. How was he supposed to stay strong when faced with Harry in full passionate rant mode?

“But we’re clearly not in a relationship. We hardly know each other, and our children are complete strangers! This is just—it’s ridiculous. We’ll never get away with it.”

“So we have to put a bit of work in—it’ll be fine! And we’ve known each other for what, eighteen years maybe? So what if we’ve not been friends for most of that time—” Draco snorted, he couldn’t help it. ‘Not friends’ was probably the politest way he’d heard anyone describe their past relationship. “—we’ve still known each other all these years. I still know how you take your coffee, what you like for breakfast, that you have sweet tooth. I promise, Draco. We can do this.”

Draco puffed out his cheeks and exhaled through pursed lips, then slumped against the high back of the booth, rubbing a hand over his mouth, all the fight draining from him. How was he supposed to respond to that?

“Sorry, was that a weird thing to say? It was weird wasn’t it?” Harry chuckled and tugged on one of the platinum hoops in his ear. “Look, I’ll reply to Mrs Pole and say we can make the meeting in, say, two weeks? That’ll give us time to get to know each other better and you can become as creepily acquainted with me as I obviously am with you,” he said with another awkward chuckle.

“Okay, fine. That’s…workable, I _suppose_ ,” Draco grudgingly agreed. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of our children not knowing each other. Scorpius is a clever boy, but if I tell him that he has to pretend Albus and James are his brothers, the first words out of his mouth to Mrs Pole will be ‘I have pretend brothers and I’m not supposed to tell you’.”

“We’ll have two weeks,” Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “That’s plenty of time to introduce them to each other. Are you free next weekend? We could take the boys to a park so they can play together, and that’ll also give us the chance outside the office to work on looking like we’re in love.” He smiled and Draco had to look away again. 

“This is a terrible idea, but…”Draco sighed and risked a glance at Harry. “I suppose it would be good for Scorpius to make a new friend. He never meets children his own age,” he added sadly.

“Hey, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. We can do this.” 

With Harry looking at him so earnestly while uttering those words, Draco almost believed him too.


	4. Chapter 4

Work that week was hard and by Thursday, Draco wondered whether he’d be better off calling in sick. He’d had little appetite since his lunch with Harry and as much as he would have liked to blame the strange Muggle food he’d eaten on Sunday, he thought it was probably something to do with the impending meeting with the school. He wished he’d been stronger and held out, but Harry was ridiculously hard to refuse, especially when faced with the full force of that earnest, green gaze. He shuddered thinking about how much Pansy and Blaise would mock him if they found out how easily he’d rolled over.

It wasn’t so much the meeting that filled him with unease, it was that he’d have to pretend to be Harry’s fiancé in front of people who were desperate for him to fuck up. At twenty-nine years old, he was embarrassingly lacking in personal experience of loving relationships. He was no blushing virgin, but he’d never let anyone get close enough to be able to call them _boyfriend_. He couldn’t even draw on examples of those around him. His parents were in love, he was sure of that, but he couldn’t imagine either him or Harry managing to be as overbearing as his father. Then there was Astoria and her wife; they were sickeningly in love, but Draco felt a bit faint at the idea of emulating their relationship with Harry.

On top of all that stress, there was the worry that he was lying to Scorpius. He tried to tell himself that it was all for Scorpius’ benefit in the end, but the guilt that his son might believe he was getting a new family sat heavily in Draco’s stomach, compounding the vague sense of nausea he’d had since Harry had forwarded him the letter. He vowed to do everything he could to hide the fake relationship from Scorpius.

As Draco tried for the hundredth time to shift his focus off his problems and onto the cold case before him, he became aware of the noise level in the office changing. Lunch must be drawing close—it always seemed to send his colleagues into a frenzy of indecision as they tried to decide where to eat. He didn’t know why they bothered. Nine times out of ten, they ended up going to the canteen anyway. No one ever bothered to ask him to join them, but he preferred it that way. Better to eat by himself at his desk—or in the park around the corner if the weather was clement—than be forced to make meaningless small talk with one of the half-brained idiots he worked with. He glanced over at his carefully packaged lunch, which was sat beside his desk under small cooling charm to keep the contents fresh. Blippy had made his favourite roast beef and horseradish sauce sandwich—probably because she’d noticed he was off his food—but he couldn’t stomach the thought of eating it yet. He’d give the apple a go, maybe. 

The noise level dipped substantially—clearly, a consensus had been reached—and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He tipped back in his chair, and closed his eyes, savouring the temporary quiet and wondered whether Blippy would notice if he just threw the sandwich in the bin, before deciding he would feel too guilty.

“Knock knock!” 

Draco startled at the sudden intrusion and almost lost balance. He opened his eyes, heart pounding from the near miss, and saw Harry standing sheepishly at the threshold of his cubicle, as if afraid to step any further without permission. Normally he’d just stride confidently up to Draco’s desk, completely disregarding typical niceties, so Draco was instantly on edge. 

"Sorry, is now a bad time?" He asked, glancing at the file laying open on Draco's desk. His Auror robes were buttoned up for a change so he must have just come back from a call out. "I can come back later if you're busy? Only I—”

“No, no. Come in,” Draco said, sitting up and gathering the spread of papers from his desk and slotting them neatly into the file. “I was about to stop for lunch, but if it’s urgent I can help you now.”

“What? Oh, no. This isn’t a work thing. Not really. It’s more of a lunch thing, but then… we’re at work so I guess it’s kind of a work thing too, I suppose,” Harry rambled as he approached the desk.

“I’m sorry. You’ve lost me.” Draco frowned, unable to make any sense out of the words.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, and let out a little frustrated groan. “Ugh. Sorry. I’ll try again.” He looked down at his feet and took a breath, then looked back at Draco. “I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch together, or rather, I’ve bought enough lunch for two and I wondered if you’d like to share some. With me. Together. Now?” His cheeks darkened but his gaze remained unwaveringly focused on Draco despite looking like he was waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“You bought me lunch?” he asked, confused, trying to focus on the message rather than Harry’s obvious discomfort. What had happened to get him so flustered?

“Yeah!” He grinned, his relief that Draco had understood him clearly evident. “I mean, I know you never go to the canteen, or down to the pub with the others, so I thought I’d bring lunch to you. If that’s okay? Tell me to fuck off if you like.”

Draco felt his mouth fall open, shocked both by the fact that Harry wanted to have lunch with him, and that he’d noticed his lunch habits. “You bought me lunch?” he repeated.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “It’s nothing special, just a few subs from Subway—” he held up one of those awful Muggle plastic carrier bags with a green and yellow logo emblazoned across it, “—and I wasn't sure what you liked so I got a simple ham and cheese on plain, a tuna on plain, then an Italian BMT on honey oat with added jalapeños because it's amazing and you have to try it, and then they had this new chicken one that sounded too good not to try so I got that one too.” He grinned sheepishly, the bag still held out in front of him. Did he expect Draco to take it from him?

“I only understood about ten percent of what you just said…” Draco said, feeling rather overwhelmed, which in turn made him feel a bit silly because it was _just lunch_. Merlin, he hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, lowering the bag to his side again. “It’s too much, isn’t it? I just thought, you know, if we ate lunch together, it would give us a chance to chat and get to know each other, because even though I’ve known you for years, I guess you’re right, we don’t really _know_ each other and if we want to appear convincingly in love to Mrs Pole at the meeting, then we probably need more than one play date in the park.” He huffed out a breathy laugh, and ran a hand down his robes, smoothing down a few creases.

Draco was brought crashing back to reality. The fake relationship, of course. That’s the only reason why Harry would be here to eat lunch with him. He swallowed down his disappointment—for a brief moment, he'd thought Harry actually wanted to spend time with him. He should have known better, though. He and Scorpius were just part of his latest crusade, and of course, he wanted to succeed.

“Yes, okay, Potter. Lunch. Good idea.” He tidied up his desk with a sweep of his wand and transfigured a chair from a spare quill for Harry.

“You know,” Harry said, sitting down in the offered seat and carefully setting the _subs_ out on the desk, “you should probably call me Harry. I mean, I imagine most people due to be married are on first name terms, or at least slightly less formal so…”

Draco glanced across the desk at him, one eyebrow raised. He supposed it was a good point. He'd often imagined saying that name out loud but had so far never done so outside of the privacy of his own head.

“Okay…Harry,” he said, and a small thrill rushed through him at the feel of the name in his mouth. _Harry_. He had to stop himself from saying it again. Harry was beaming at him and Draco had to cough and look away to compose himself, pretending to be very interested in his fingernails. “Don’t get used to it, Potter,” he muttered to cover up his embarrassment.

When he looked back up, Harry had spread the food out on the table, and he found his mouth dropping open for the second time that lunch.

Harry noticed him looking and ruffled a hand through his hair. “Um, I may have gotten a little carried away. But in my defence, I didn’t know what you liked or how hungry you were, so…”

“Four small baguettes, four cookies, and five packets of crisps.” 

“You don’t have to eat it all,” Harry added in a rush. “Or any of it. I won’t be offended. I did kind of spring this on you.”

Draco glanced at the small nutritional lunch Blippy had prepared for him and sighed. It would keep.

“No, I…Thank you. I appreciate it. And you’re right, it would be better if we were more familiar with each other.” He reached out and broke a small piece off one of the cookies. It was soft and sweet and still slightly warm. Draco’s stomach growled as his appetite rushed back, but Harry thankfully said nothing.

“You could have just said sandwiches, rather than subs—it would have saved a lot of confusion,” Draco said, taking one half of what he assumed was the Italian BMT. Harry had been so enthusiastic about it, he felt he should at least give it a go.

Harry paused mid-bite, then hastily swallowed his mouthful before speaking. “You’ve never had Subway before?”

“I’ve had filled baguettes before—they’re hardly revolutionary. I was just thrown by the name.”

“I’ll have to take you there one day! You can pretty much get them to put whatever you want in it.”

“Like a normal sandwich bar or deli counter then…”

“Well, yeah, but, I don’t know, it feels different. More fun!” He said with a broad grin, before picking up a fallen slice of jalapeño and popping it into his mouth. As Draco watched, he sucked some sauce off his finger, and then licked his palm where some more had dripped. “You up for it?” Harry asked, startling Draco out of his rapidly spiralling thoughts.

_Up for it? Up for what? Was this part of his daydream?_

“Hey, you in there?” Harry said merrily waving a hand in front of his face. “D’you want to come with me to Subway sometime? Experience it in the flesh?”

 _Oh._ “If it is anything like the last restaurant you dragged me too, I think I’ll give it a miss, thank you.” He grabbed a cookie and took a large bite, willing Harry to look away from him.

“Aw, that place was brill! You’re no fun,” Harry pouted, throwing a balled-up napkin at him and then laughing delightedly when it bounced off his forehead and landed in his empty coffee mug.

"Potter!" Draco screeched, affronted. "You absolute bastard," he said, trying to glare, but it was impossible to keep a straight face when Harry was giggling like a schoolboy in front of him, so he just gave in and laughed along with him. It was ridiculous, two grown men laughing about a dirty napkin, but Draco liked it. It was almost like they were _real_ friends. Suddenly, the whole fake relationship thing didn't seem like such a preposterous idea—for the first time he truly believed they might be able to pull it off. He even found he was looking forward to the park playdate.

———

The park was empty when Draco and Scorpius turned up, perfectly on time, of course. He’d never visited this park before but he was vaguely familiar with the area so it hadn’t been hard to find. The entrance was tucked away behind a row of houses in one of the more affluent areas of south London; it was one of those places that you’d never find unless you were specifically looking for it. The play area was in one corner, kept separate from the rest of the park by a lemon yellow fence, and the equipment looked relatively new—the colours still bright and no obvious rust—so it passed Draco’s acceptance criteria. 

The sky was a typical February grey, and there was a sharp chill in the air so the play area was currently free of children. When he couldn't immediately see Harry anywhere, he panicked for a moment, thinking that perhaps he'd got the wrong place or day or time, but no. He'd made sure to double-check everything, so he knew Harry was probably just running a little late. Although there was always the chance he had been called into work and not had time to say anything. He looked down at Scorpius, expecting to see him look disappointed that there was no one his age to play with, but his son was practically vibrating with excitement. He was staring wide-eyed at the brightly coloured play equipment, gloved hands gripping Draco's coat tightly as if keeping himself from running off. The pompom on the top of his forest-green bobble hat danced around in time with his excited bounces, and Draco couldn't help but smile at him. It filled him with joy to see his son so elated about something as simple as an empty park on a bitterly cold morning, but it was a joy tinged with sadness because it reminded him how much he'd made Scorpius miss out on by hiding away at the Manor.

“Looks like your friend isn't here yet,” Draco said, trying to keep his voice light. “Why don't you go off and play while we wait for them to turn up.” 

Scorpius peeked up at him nervously from beneath his hat, grey eyes peering out from between tufts of blond hair. Draco could tell he was conflicted between acting with the restraint that had been bred into him and tearing off to investigate this exciting new place. “Go on, it’s okay,” Draco urged.

“Come with me?” Scorpius asked timidly. Draco smiled and nodded, and Scorpius wasted no time in grabbing his hand, eagerly dragging him toward the equipment.

He'd just started pushing Scorpius gently on a swing when a young brown-haired boy darted straight past them, narrowly avoiding getting one of Scorpius' feet in his face, and launched himself at the climbing frame. Draco turned to see whether the child had parents anywhere nearby so he could frown and tut at them and immediately spotted Harry a short distance away, holding the hand of a small dark-haired boy. When he saw Draco looking, he waved and then leant down and said something to the boy, causing him to huddle closer to Harry's leg. He had to be Albus—he was a mini version of Harry, only without the glasses. Draco suspected that he’d even have been able to guess the familial link without seeing the pair of them together. That meant the other boy had to be James. Draco turned in time to see James throw himself face first down the slide—he’d eat his best dragon-hide boots if that boy wasn’t a Gryffindor when he got to Hogwarts. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Harry said, loosening the scarf from around his neck. He was wearing a Hufflepuff one today and it stood out brightly against his skin. “I always forget how hard it is to leave the house when you have two kids to get ready. Especially now James has decided that clothes are optional.”

“It’s no problem. We haven’t been waiting long. Um, what’s with the…” he gestured to his neck.

“What? Oh, this! Teddy gave it to me—ever since he started at Hogwarts he’s become very pro-inter-house unity and insists that I branch out from wearing my old Gryffindor one.” He lifted up one end of the scarf and waggled it back and forth so the tassels jiggled about, making Scorpius giggle.

“Sensible boy,” Draco said after casting a fond look at Scorpius. He didn’t know Teddy all that well thanks to his mother’s continued distance from her sister, but he enjoyed hearing about him from Harry. “He must get that from the Black side. Perhaps I’ll lend you my old Slytherin one,” he said with a laugh.

“I'd like that.” Harry met Draco's eye and smiled softly. He felt pinned to the spot—the moment stretched on and on and the park fell away into the background until a grumbled protest from Scorpius reminded Draco where he was. He mentally shook himself to clear the fog from his brain and turned to wrestle Scorpius from the swing. At least he could blame the colour in his cheeks on the cold weather.

“You must be Scorpius,” Harry said kneeling down to greet Scorpius face to face, “Nice to meet you, buddy.” Draco winced at the term, but Scorpius looked delighted and eagerly shook Harry’s hand. “Al, come say ‘hi’ to Scorpius.”

Albus peeked out shyly from behind his father but didn’t say anything. Scorpius, never one to be put off by a bit of social awkwardness, approached.

“Hi Al, I’m Scorpius. Did you know there’s a slide, and a swings, and a climbing frame and _even_ a sandpit! Can I show you?”

Albus looked up at his father, who nodded encouragingly, and it only took a bit more urging before Albus allowed Scorpius to drag him further into the park.

“I apologise. Scorpius doesn’t have much, or any, experience with children his own age. I’m afraid he might be a bit much for Albus.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Al can hold his own. I mean, you can see his brother.” They both looked over at James who was dangling upside down from the monkey bars while playing a game that apparently involved a lot of shouting with another couple of children who had since turned up. “It’ll be nice for Albus to have a friend of his own. He’s much quieter than his brother and cousins so he tends to sit on the sidelines a bit. He seems to like Scorpius, though—it normally takes a lot more encouragement to get him to let go of my hand.”

Draco followed as Harry led them to a bench at the edge of the play area. It was cold, but not bitterly so. Still, there was a bit of a bite to the air so he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was glad he’d remembered the warming charms for Scorpius’ clothes, but he’d been in such a rush to leave on time, that he’d forgotten about himself. He wondered if he could get away with getting his wand out, but then decided it wasn’t worth the risk. If he got caught, they’d have him in Azkaban before he could blink.

“Do you want a coffee?” Harry asked after a few minutes of increasingly awkward silence.

“There’s a cafe here?” Draco replied, looking around hopefully.

“No, but I brought a thermos.” He produced a flask from a rucksack that Draco had only just noticed, then fished around a bit and brought out two mugs with a flourish. Draco gladly accepted one and held it out to be filled.

“I’ve added a couple of charms so it’s got a larger capacity than you can see, and it also keeps the liquid hotter for longer. It’s the one I use on stakeouts.”

Draco made what he hoped was an impressed face and took a sip. It was incredibly bitter—he tended to prefer his coffee sweet and milky—but at least it was hot.

“Hold on,” Harry said. “I almost forgot. I brought milk and sugar for you. I didn’t know how much you liked though…” He set his mug carefully down on the bench and retrieved a carton of milk and a bag of sugar.

“I’m sure a pint of milk and five hundred grams of sugar is plenty,” Draco said with a smile. “I’m beginning to sense a theme, though.”

“Go big or go home,” Harry replied, grinning broadly.

The play date went well from what Draco could tell through his limited prior experience of such things. Harry got dragged into a game with James, so Draco took responsibility for watching the younger two boys. He’d never before had much opportunity to watch Scorpius interact with other children so it was fascinating to see the pair of them playing together. He had rather expected to spend more of the time talking to Harry, but he looked to be in his element running around with his eldest son. He wondered if he should do a bit more active parenting with Albus and Scorpius, but they were so happy playing together, that he felt it would be more disruptive to insert himself into their game.

As lunchtime approached, Draco toyed with the idea of asking if Harry wanted to get a bite together, but he didn’t get the chance before Harry bounded over red-cheeked and out of breath, his black hair sticking up in every direction.

“Hey, Draco, really sorry to have to do this, but I’ve been called into the office.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Draco said, ignoring the sting of disappointment now their day together was being cut short. “I believe Scorpius has enjoyed himself, so thank you for inviting us out.”

“No problem. Maybe next time, we’ll even get time to chat a bit more ourselves,” he said with a grin that seemed to light up the air around him and made Draco’s mind collapse in on itself. He was becoming used to seeing Harry smile at work, but seeing him smile while slightly sweaty and out of breath from playing with his children made him realise that Harry’s office smile paled in comparison what he was seeing now. 

“Next time?” he asked, kicking himself for sounding so needy and desperate.

“Yeah! We’ve got to make this convincing, right? The more time we spend together as a, um…as a _family_ , the better!”

Ah, yes. This wasn’t real. “Of course. Scorpius will be thrilled, I’m sure. He’s clearly had a lot of fun.” Draco hastily squashed all thoughts of friendship and family and Harry Potter’s unfairly attractive face back down where they belonged and slipped on his usual impassive mask.

“Yeah. I hate that I have to cut it short.” Harry continued, the joy in his face dimming slightly. “I don’t know why they always call _me_ in on the weekends. They know it’s the only time I get with my boys, but now I’ll have to drop them off at the Burrow, and I probably won’t get to see them properly until next week because they go back to Gin on Sunday so there’s really no point in hauling them back to London for a couple of hours. Ugh. I hate this so much.” 

“Why won’t you get to see them? Does Ginevra keep them from you?”

“No! Nothing like that, no. She’s brill. Still having to put up with my crap even after we’ve split up,” he laughed to himself and Draco pushed away the little flare of jealousy at the thought of Harry having such a good relationship with his ex. It shouldn’t matter to him at all. “It’s selfish really, but…I have to share them with everyone else at the Burrow—their cousins, their aunties and uncles, their grandparents—but at the weekend, when they’re at my house, it’s just me and them and, I dunno. I like it. We’re a little team.” He smiled sadly and Draco felt his heart break a little for Harry. A man who worked so hard because he wanted to help people, and in doing so, missed out on spending time with the people who made him the happiest. 

Before he could properly engage his brain, Draco opened his mouth and screamed internally as the words spilt out. “Scorpius and I could come to your house and babysit if that would help? If you’re okay having me in your home when you’re not there, that is.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course, it’s no trouble. We have no other plans.”

“Wow, that’s— Just…wow. Draco, that would be amazing! Thank you so much! Are you sure you don’t mind? James can be quite a handful and Kreacher is worse than useless with kids. It’ll be three against one…”

“Nothing I can’t handle. I can ask Blippy to help out if necessary—she loves an outing.”

“You’re really sure?”

“Yes. I’m really sure.” Draco wasn’t sure at all. He wanted to grab Scorpius and flee back to the Manor, but his mouth would not shut up. “You’re temporarily sacrificing any romantic pursuits to help me get Scorpius into a good school, so a spot of babysitting is the least I can do.”

“Thanks so much. You have no idea what this means to me.” The grateful smile he shot Draco calmed any thoughts he had that he was making a terrible mistake. Clearly, offering to babysit two children he barely knew wasn't one of his better decisions, but seeing Harry's face, he knew it was the right thing to do.

———

Being inside Harry’s house brought up lots of strange feelings for Draco, not least because he couldn’t believe he was actually inside Harry Potter’s house. It wasn’t his first time being there—he'd visited the property several times as a small boy before his Great Aunt Walburga had died. It was unrecognisable from what he remembered though. Harry had obviously worked hard to remove all traces of dark magic and pure-blood grandstanding, and he was rather impressed with how well decorated it was. It had a definite homely, lived-in feel, but it wasn't the shambles he'd been expecting based on Harry's fashion choices. 

Harry had left after only the very briefest of tours, telling Draco to ask Kreacher if he needed to know where anything was before disappearing through the Floo to the Ministry. As soon as the flames in the fireplace had turned from green back to orange, Draco started to panic. He was alone in what was basically a strange house with three children and a grumpy house-elf with a pure-blood fetish. He'd never been solely responsible for someone else's children before and he was terrified. James immediately plonked himself in front of the television and started watching something noisy and colourful so Draco let him be, while Albus dragged Scorpius to his room to play with something called _Lego_ , which didn't sound too dangerous, so he summoned Blippy to make lunch for everyone, while he had a cup of tea and tried to keep the panic at a low murmur in the back of his mind. Everything was calm and quiet. He could do this.

An hour later he was on his knees in front of the fireplace.

“You have to help me,” he hissed as soon as Pansy’s face appeared in the flames—he didn’t want any of the children over-hearing and detecting weakness. 

Pansy eyed him suspiciously. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing! It’s—” A noise in the corridor made him turn around, but there was no one there. “Do you have any idea how to look after someone else’s children?”

“Draco,” Pansy said carefully, “you’re scaring me. What’s happened to Scorpius? Why have you got someone else’s children? And where the bloody fuck are you?”

He laughed, and it bordered on the hysterical. “Scorpius is fine. In fact, we are at Potter's house, with Potter's children, only Potter has gone to work and the children are all running around being noisy and I don't know what to do!”

“Okay, firstly, calm down, and secondly, step back, I’m coming through.”

The second Pansy stepped through the Floo, Draco felt his panic drop to more manageable levels. He was no longer the sole adult on the premises. Pansy was dressed in a skin-tight red halter-neck dress and looked far more glamorous than warranted for a Saturday afternoon.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?” Draco said, with a pointed glare at her outfit.

“What?” She glanced down at her clothes. “Oh, no. I was just hanging around the house, catching up on some reading. Hold on.” She drew her wand out of what Draco hoped to Merlin was a thigh holster and transfigured her dress into more childcare-appropriate leggings and an oversized t-shirt. “Now, come on Draco. What's got you so panicked?”

“I'm not panicked. I'm just outnumbered. I took Scorpius for a play date at a park with Harry and his children, but Harry got called into work and for some reason, I volunteered to look after James and Albus until he finished.”

Pansy folded her arms across her chest and quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re babysitting your fake boyfriend’s children?”

“Fake fiancé. And, yes,” Draco replied snippily. He needed her help, not her disapproving glares.

“Well, where are they now, these children you’re apparently responsible for? Where’s Scorpius?”

“I left them in the playroom. They have these things called _Legos_. Have you seen them? Tiny little choking hazards that you can stick together to make bigger things. How Muggles come up with this stuff, I have no idea. The mind boggles!”

“Wait, you’re telling me you’ve left three young children alone while you sit here and what? Drink tea and panic?”

“No!” Draco cried, insulted that Pansy would ever think he’d leave Scorpius in a dangerous situation. “Blippy is watching them.”

“Well, why aren’t you with them, playing, or supervising, or whatever it is responsible adults do?”

“Because they’re finally quiet! if I disturb them, they might start causing trouble.”

“Oh, Draco. Can’t you see what a perfect opportunity this is? Don’t you want those kids to tell their dad how amazing you are?”

“What do you mean? Why would I want that…?”

“So you can get in his pants, of course,” Pansy said with a smirk.

“Pansy!” Draco shrieked. “I’m not using his kids to seduce him. I don’t even _want_ to seduce him! You—”

A loud crash from somewhere above their heads cut Draco off before he could finish what would no doubt have been a very creative insult. 

Pansy rolled her eyes and grabbed Draco’s arm, leading him out of the living room. “Come on, you idiot, let’s go entertain these kids. I’ll take James, and you can take the quieter two.”


	5. Chapter 5

Draco came into work an hour early on Monday so he really didn't expect to see Harry in his office. Of course, he was there, though, perched on the corner of his desk and chatting with Johnson and a couple of other Aurors. He looked relaxed, his uniform partially unbuttoned and hanging open, showing off one of the ratty old t-shirts he often wore underneath. Draco willed him to look up and see him as he drew nearer to the open door, a friendly smile ready on his lips, but Harry's attention never left the witches in front of him. He tried not to feel too disappointed—he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He supposed he'd thought maybe they were proper friends now but did Harry think that? Would it be acceptable to stop by Harry's office and say _hello_ later, or would that be assuming a bit too much of their relationship? Were they _really_ friends, or were they still barely acquaintances? He wished he'd demanded a bit more clarity over the boundaries of their relationship because it would be mortifying to turn up at his office only to get laughed back out again. 

With the open door now behind him, Draco fought the urge to look over his shoulder to check if Harry still hadn’t noticed him, but then there was a loud burst of laughter and he tensed—were they laughing at him? He immediately thought that Harry must have told them how awful his weekend had been because he’d had to spend it with Draco, and the good mood he had woken up with was instantly sapped away.

Once Draco reached the safety of his cubicle, he tossed his bag roughly to the floor and slumped into his chair. The laughter was still ringing in his ears, and even though logically he knew they probably weren't laughing at him, he found it hard to convince himself of this. It stirred up too many reminders of his first forays into the Wizarding world following his house-arrest, and his default response to this was to curl in on himself, small and defensive, shutting everyone out. He refused to be cowed though. He stuffed the feelings down as deep as they could go and tried to direct his anger toward something more productive.

Several memos zipped around his head, ranging in urgency from _‘do this if you get a chance'_ to _‘I need this done last week'_. The rustling as they jostled each other tried his last patience, so Draco corralled them into his in-tray with an angry flick of his wand. He would normally use the time before morning briefing to sort through any memos or files that had turned up since he was last in the office, but he felt too restless and agitated, so he just spun around slowly in his chair a few times and focused on the breathing exercises his mind-healer had taught him. As he was spinning aimlessly, he caught sight of his succulents. He retrieved the small watering can from the top of one of the bookshelves, filled it from his wand, and watered each one, carefully removing any dead foliage. It was Blaise who'd bought him his first plant, along with a book called _Succulents for Every Mood_. Apparently, he'd read somewhere that tending plants could be soothing, but Draco suspected Longbottom's influence. He still couldn't quite get his head around that friendship, but Blaise was happy so that was all that mattered. Draco had quickly found himself hooked though, and now he had twenty-three variants, which was an endless source of amusement to Blaise.

By the time the morning briefing rolled around Draco felt much calmer, but his irritation spiked again when he walked into the briefing room and caught sight of Harry—sat near the back, of course. He was still chatting and laughing with the same group of Aurors Draco had seen him with earlier. He smiled and sent Draco a half-wave when their gaze met, but Draco just narrowed his eyes and stubbornly refused to return either. Instead, he let himself bask in the confused frown he saw on Harry’s face before sitting down with his back firmly towards the scruffy-haired twat. He knew he was being childish and that it wasn’t really Harry he was annoyed with; he was more annoyed at himself for getting caught up in the lie. He felt stupid for believing that Harry would want to spend time with him if not for his current mission to get a primary school to be less discriminatory. 

As soon as the briefing was over, Draco hurried off back to his desk before Harry could accost him, then busied himself with sorting through the pile of memos that were becoming increasingly more distressed. He was so engrossed that he didn’t even notice the interloper in his cubicle until he spoke.

“Morning Draco! I brought you a coffee—milky and sweet right?” Harry asked, holding out a steaming mug. It was Draco’s favourite mug from the break room—large enough for a decent amount of beverage without the ceramic being too thick, a handle so comfortable to hold that it felt like it was made for his grip, and an obnoxiously cute kitten frolicking around the middle. Was it a lucky guess on Harry's part or had he known about Draco's mug preference?

"Potter?" Draco frowned but reached over to accept the drink anyway. He'd spent all morning reminding himself that Harry wanted nothing to do with him outside of their obligations with the school, so it was confusing to see him transfiguring himself a chair and making himself comfortable on the other side of Draco’s desk.

Harry chuckled and shook his head—an oddly fond action, which only confused Draco further. “Come on, I thought we covered this. Harry. Ha. Ree. Say it with me: Haaa—”

“ _Harry,_ ” Draco replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Good boy! So, Coffee? I don’t know anyone else who drinks it this sweet so you’re pretty much stuck with it whether you want it or not.” The broad grin he aimed at Draco set off a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. 

“Why are you here?” Draco asked. He kept his face carefully blank—he couldn’t let Harry know how much his mere presence affected him.

“To bring you coffee. Didn’t we just cover this? Are you feeling alright?” Harry leaned forward, and for a terrifying moment, Draco thought he was going to reach over and feel his forehead, but he was just straightening out his trousers.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he snapped. “But…why are you bringing me coffee?”

“Er, because I’ve already worked my arse off this morning and I fancied a break and I thought I’d come hang out with you for a bit, but I didn’t want to turn up with coffee and you not have one, so here I am. With coffee.”

His words were still making little sense so Draco pushed for more clarification. “Yes, but _why_ do you want to hang out with me?”

“Because we’re friends! Aren’t we?” Harry suddenly looked a little unsure of himself. “Did I manage to piss you off at some point between Saturday night and now?”

“No!” Draco was shocked. Harry thought they were friends? “I…I suppose I’m not used to people coming to my desk just to drink coffee and _hang out_ ,” he replied quietly, dropping his eyes to the desk to avoid Harry’s gaze. He ran a finger along the edge of the file in front of him to square it with the edge of his desk.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t think…” Harry mumbled.

Draco looked up and instantly wished he hadn’t when he saw the pity in Harry’s face. He regretted ever opening his mouth. 

“Do you want me to go?” Harry asked.

“No, no. Please, stay. I’m just surprised. Thank you for the coffee.” Draco fixed a smile on his face and was relieved to see Harry relax a bit. He didn’t want his pity—he didn’t want anyone’s pity.

“No problem. I tell you what, next time I’ll bring some of my paperwork for you to correct so you don’t get too freaked out.”

"An excellent plan." An awkward silence descended between them as they both sipped their coffees. Draco scrambled for something to say that would fill the void and change the topic from his lack of work friends. "So, um, did you enjoy your Sunday with Albus and James?"

“Yeah! Thanks again for watching them for me. I feel like such a part-time dad sometimes so I really appreciated being able to spend Sunday with them too.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Eh, I don’t know about that. I’m the one that cared more about my work than fixing my marriage. I mean, I’m glad Ginny’s happy now…but…” he trailed off, brows knitted and a faraway look in his eyes. 

Draco kicked himself for managing to bring down the mood again and hastened to fix it. “Scorpius had a good time, by the way. He hasn’t stopped talking about Albus.” 

Harry brightened so rapidly, Draco wondered if he'd imagined Harry's brief moment of introspection. "Really? Ah, that's great. Al had fun too. He was asking when Scorp would be coming to play at ours so he clearly gets the Albus seal of approval. We'll have to set up some more play dates—after all, they’re going to be brothers,” he said with a wink. Draco smiled and nodded in agreement, but inside his gut clenched at the casual reminder of their arrangement. He tried to put that out of his mind though. Harry had come to see him, with coffee, and had called him a friend; it wasn’t all a lie. 

Harry visited his desk most days after that, sometimes with coffee, occasionally with cake or biscuits he’d scavenged from somewhere. They even had lunch together twice, although not in the canteen, much to Draco’s relief; he could cope with hanging out with Harry in the privacy of his cubicle, but he wasn’t ready to flaunt their new friendship in front of anyone.

———

Friday afternoon, and the meeting with the school, arrived far too soon for Draco’s liking. Despite feeling more comfortable around Harry, their boys had still only met once and Draco was certain the school would see through their _happy family_ act. They might be able to pass as friends now, but two people in love and due to be wed? He doubted it. His nervousness was compounded by the fact that they hadn’t spoken at all about how they would act in the meeting—perhaps Harry was avoiding thinking about it as much as he was—so he had no idea what was expected of him. Would they stand side by side and barely look at each other, or were they supposed to be physically affectionate? Draco thought he might faint if he was expected to do anything more than stand a little closer to Harry than normal, and maybe casually brush against his arm a couple of times.

The reception area at the school was warm and welcoming. It looked like just the kind of cheerful, nurturing environment you would be happy to send your child to for six hours a day. Drawings adorned the walls alongside inspiring quotes and certificates proclaiming the achievement of various smiling students. One drawing, in particular, a crooked, smiling face with green eyes and zigzag scar rendered in crayon, drew his attention, and he smiled when he saw _My Dad by James Potter, year 1_ scrawled across the bottom.

Draco smoothed down Scorpius' hair again with his fingers, while Scorpius tried to squirm away. He was particularly taken with the trophy cabinet that proudly displayed shields for attendance and effort and enthusiasm and other meaningless things. Scorpius had questioned Draco about it ceaselessly until Draco had snapped and told him to be quiet. He hated sounding like his father, but he was so nervous. He had explained as best he could to his four-year-old son why they were going to a meeting at the school, and why Harry and Albus would be there too, but he wasn't sure how much of it sunk in. He wanted him to understand that they were just visiting to check if the school was the right fit, but as soon as Scorpius had seen the bright and colourful reception, and had heard all the children playing in the playground, he was entranced, and Draco knew if the school decided not to accept him, Scorpius would be heartbroken.

Draco glared at the clock in the corner and sent the receptionist another apologetic smile. He and Harry had intended to arrive together with the boys, but _apparently_ some last minute problems cropped up at the office so Harry was forced to linger at work a while longer. He’d assured Draco that he wouldn’t be late, and he still had precisely four minutes to make good on that promise, but with each passing second, Draco could feel his blood pressure rise.

With barely a minute to spare, the fireplace flared green and Harry and Albus tumbled out. Draco schooled his features. He had to remember this was his loving future husband, rather than his irritating ex-rival-now-sort-of friend who clearly had a problem with timekeeping. It was a good thing they weren’t actually getting married because Harry would probably turn up half an hour after the ceremony had started.

“Sorry. Higgs was talking my ear off about something and I couldn’t get away,” Harry said, ruffling his hair to dislodge the soot before doing the same for Albus.

Draco tutted and vanished the dirt from the pair of them with a wave of his wand. “You could have told him you had an appointment and left, you know,” he snapped. He didn’t want to lose his temper, but Harry made it very difficult sometimes.

“I did! It’s just, you know what it’s like. You say you have to leave, they want to say one last thing, then it turns into several last things…”

“No, I don’t know what it’s like. I leave when I say I’m going to leave and don’t let people draw me into unnecessary conversation.”

“Hey, I wasn’t actually late,” Harry protested.

“Barely. You only just made it. What sort of impression—”

“Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy. How wonderful you could both make it.” A witch had emerged from the door beside the trophy cabinet and was watching them with a strained smile on her lips. She had greying hair which stuck out from her head in thick, tight curls, and a plump, friendly face that gave her the air of being someone’s favourite grandma. Her eyes were cold and assessing as they passed over Draco, though, instantly putting him on edge. He’d had more than one supposedly nice person turn on him since the war. “And these two are, let me guess…You, young man, must be Albus Potter,” Albus glared at her from behind Harry’s leg, while Harry smiled apologetically. “And you must be Scorpius Malfoy.” Scorpius nodded his head enthusiastically and grinned, happy to have been recognised. Draco bristled as he thought he detected a slight note of distaste in her tone as she said _Malfoy_ but he hoped he’d been mistaken. Nonetheless, he was going to watch her closely. 

“For the benefit of Mr Malfoy, let me introduce myself. I’m Agatha Pole, headmistress of Athelstan’s. You may call me Ms Pole. It’s a pleasure to see you both here with your children.” She extended her hand and Harry reached forward to take it.

“Ms Pole. It’s good to see you again. We’re happy to be here to help put your mind at ease,” Harry said, shaking her hand.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Pole. I'm Draco Malfoy," he reached out to shake her hand too, suppressing a shudder when the cool, papery feel of her skin instantly reminded him of his aunt. "I can't tell you how excited Scorpius is to be here.”

“He’s a charming young man. A credit to you and…”

“His mother resides in New York with her wife and has had very little input in his upbringing,” he said, a little coldly. It always rubbed him the wrong way when people assumed he hadn’t singlehandedly raised Scorpius.

“Well, a credit to you and you alone then. He must be over the moon to be getting a new—”

“Ms Pole,” Harry cut in, “if you please. We're not here to discuss our private lives. I'm sure you can understand that we don't want these matters spoken about in front of our children.” Draco was taken aback by the sternness Harry's words and more than a little impressed.

Agatha's mouth pinched together. Draco could see she wasn't happy to be spoken over, but clearly, she cared enough about the boys, or perhaps about Harry Potter's approval, to hold her tongue.

“Apologies, Mr Potter.” 

Draco waited for his apology, but none was forthcoming. He gripped his hands tightly behind his back and reminded himself that they were here to make a good impression. Snapping at the head teacher would probably not achieve that.

“Let me show you to the reception class, where your boys will be if they attend our school. Ms Patil has kindly invited the boys to sit in with her class while I show you around the school.”

The name rang a bell with Draco, but it wasn’t until they entered the reception class that he realised the teacher was one of the Patil’s from his and Harry’s year at school. Harry greeted her like an old friend, and she was polite enough to Draco that he didn’t feel too irritated by her initial suspicious glare. Most importantly, though, she welcomed both Albus and Scorpius warmly so he was comfortable leaving his son in her care.

The school tour was brief and would have been shorter still had James not gotten over-excited at seeing his dad in class and insisted on showing him everything they’d been doing that term. Draco found it hard to focus on the tour, though. Agatha’s eyes were on him constantly, watching his every move and judging him. He didn’t even know _why_ they had to do the stupid tour. Harry already knew the school, since James had been there for a year, so it was clearly a ruse to give her time to observe them as a couple.

They finished the tour in Agatha's office. It was a richly appointed room, completely at odds with the down-to-earth feel of the rest of the school. Clearly, this was the throne room of her little kingdom. She rounded the lavish desk in the centre of the room, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet, and perched on her chair, fingers steepled before her. The door clicked shut behind them and Draco stiffened, his body readying for a fight. He glanced at Harry, hoping to take his cues from him, but Harry looked furious. Draco wouldn't have been surprised if the lights started flickering.

“I’m so pleased you were able to make time to visit us. As you know, we have some reservations about accepting Scorpius at our school.” Harry looked like he was about to jump in and start yelling, so Draco subtly stepped on his toes, and thankfully, he got the message. “Perhaps if you had been open with your connection to Mr Potter from the start, this could have been cleared up much sooner.”

“I fail to see how my… _relationship_ with Harry as any bearing at all on whether you accept my son at your school.”

“You have to understand, the safety and well-being of my pupils is paramount. Many of our parents might be nervous to learn that a child with Scorpius’ family history is a pupil at the school.”

Draco felt his patience, which was admittedly not too thick to start with, wearing thin. “There must be dozens of pupils with familial Death Eater connections!”

“That may be so, but none of them were quite so prolific as your family.”

“This is— You can’t— Scorpius isn’t a Death Eater! Draco isn’t a Death Eater!” Harry yelled. He’d moved closer to Agatha as he spoke, his voice increasing in volume, until he was leaning across the desk, hands flat on the surface. Agatha didn’t even flinch.

“Harry, please,” Draco urged, stepping closer and tentatively putting a hand on Harry’s arm.

“Gentlemen, if you are really to be wed, then I foresee no problem in accepting Scorpius. People will be nervous about a Malfoy at the school, but if he is associated with the Potters, or perhaps even takes the Potter name—” Draco spluttered, but a sharp look from Harry stilled him. “—then I don’t think people will worry as much.”

Draco was quietly seething, the anger filling him with a burning need to do _something_ —he just wasn’t sure what. He knew if he opened his mouth then he would either say something he’d regret or else burst into tears and neither scenario was particularly welcome. He should be happy. Scorpius pretty much had a place at the school—it was what he wanted, what they’d done this for—they were so close, so why did he feel so empty? And what would happen now? Would they be expected to keep the act up for the entire time Scorpius attended the school? Would he have to register Scorpius as a _Potter_? 

Harry’s voice snapped him back to the room. “Of course we’re getting married. Why would we make something like that up?” He slipped an arm around Draco’s waist and pulled him in close. “We can’t wait, can we, dear?”

Draco melted into the pressure. Harry’s gaze, his soft smile, the solid warmth of his hand on Draco’s hip, it was like a soothing balm on the fire of indignation raging through him. It felt so… _real_. How he longed for it to be real.

“Yes, yes,” Draco finally managed to choke out. He cleared his throat and tried to stabilise himself. “Very excited.” 

Agatha’s gaze was cool and indecipherable as it swept over them, her pursed lips quirked up slightly at the corners as if she was torn between smiling and utter disgust. 

“Um, can we ask that you don’t say anything to the boys? We’re trying to keep things as normal as possible for them,” Harry said, breaking the strained silence. Draco felt his hand tighten on his hip and shifted closer in silent support.

Agatha arched a pointed eyebrow at them. “They don’t know you’re getting married?”

“We’ve been taking things slow—” Harry started.

“—very slow—” added Draco, beginning to feel a little more confident with Harry’s reassuring presence at his side.

“—right, and we don’t want to alarm them.”

Agatha sat back in her chair, bringing her steepled fingers to her lips before settling them tidily on her lap. “I know it’s not my place, but perhaps it might be better to tell your children they’re to be brothers.”

“You’re right, it’s not your place. We’ll tell them when we’re ready,” Harry stated firmly. The tone of his voice sent a pleasant shiver down Draco’s spine despite the current situation and he hoped Harry hadn’t noticed.

“Fair enough. So,” Agatha leant forward conspiratorially all of a sudden, “when's the big day?”

“We’ve not—” Draco said at the same time as Harry said, “July.”

Draco turned to glare at him and Harry shrugged, smiling sheepishly as he pushed up his glasses. 

“Er, we’ve not exactly agreed on a date. I want a summer wedding, but Mr Fussy here—” Draco snorted “—wants a Spring wedding, so…you know…”

“Of course. Well, I hope you manage to reach a compromise,” Agatha said, although Draco doubted her sincerity. He'd developed a strong dislike of the woman over the course of the afternoon. “Right,” she said, standing up and smoothing down her robes with a careful hand. “I'm pleased we've been able to have this chance to meet, and I'll pass on my thoughts to the school board who, as you know, have the final say on who we accept. I can't foresee any problems though. If you could wait in reception, I'll have Ms Patil bring the boys around to meet you.”

“Thank you, Ms Pole. It's been a pleasure meeting with you.” Draco nodded politely but didn't offer his hand. Agatha didn't seem to mind the lack of manners—if anything, she looked relieved that she wouldn’t have to touch him again.

“Thanks again, Mrs Pole,” Harry said cheerfully, finally dropping his arm from Draco’s waist. “I hope we’ve been able to set your mind at ease with regard to Scorpius. He’s a wonderful kid and Albus would be heartbroken if they had to be separated.”

“Of course. We’ll certainly bear that in mind.”

Draco gritted his teeth to prevent himself from trying to get the last word in. This woman was _really_ trying his patience though. He nodded his farewell and looked briefly at Harry to check they were all done before going to open the door, but Agatha spoke up again as they made their escape.

"Mr Potter, if you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with you." Draco paused, halfway out of the door and frowned at Harry, who looked just as confused as he felt. " _Alone_ ," she added firmly when neither of them made a move.

“I guess I’ll see you in reception,” Harry said, looking confused.

———

Draco tried to make himself comfortable on the low bench in the foyer, but it clearly wasn’t a bench designed with comfort, or adults, in mind. He’d only sat to stop himself from pacing. He hated not knowing what they were discussing in the office. For all he knew, they were talking about James, but somehow, Draco didn’t think that was it.

After ten minutes, Scorpius came tearing down the corridor, followed more sedately by Albus. Draco relaxed, glad to at least have his son back. 

“He’s a lovely little boy, Draco.”

Draco looked up from Scorpius’ beaming face to see Patil watching them. “Thank you.”

“He’s going to fit in perfectly here. The other children adored him. He’s so bright, and curious about everything.”

Draco smiled fondly at his son who had already dragged Albus to the trophy cabinet to point out his favourite ones. “That means a lot, thank you. He hasn’t had much interaction with children his own age so I worried it might be hard for him.”

“Oh, not at all. He took to it like a Niffler to gold. It’ll do Albus good to have him on his side too. It’s so nice they have each other.”

“Yes, quite.” Draco glanced back at the two little boys, so different and yet both seemed to have found a missing part of themselves. He hoped that what he and Harry were doing wouldn’t have any negative consequences for their children.

“Congratulations, by the way. I had no idea you and Harry were even dating, so it was quite a surprise to hear that you’re getting married.” She didn’t seem upset by the news and Draco wondered how well she knew Harry. They hadn’t intended on telling anyone else about their _relationship_ , but Harry had to have known Patil would find out. Would she tell everyone else?

“Ah, well…” He glanced back over to Scorpius and Albus, who had now moved on from the cabinet and were chatting to one of the paintings “…we were keeping things quiet. We didn’t want it getting into the Prophet. Harry’s a very private person.”

“Oh, yes, I know, and you don’t have to worry about me selling you out to Skeeter. I really am pleased for you both though. You look very happy together.” 

Draco didn’t know what to say to that so he mumbled another awkward thank you.

“Maybe you can convince him to start coming to some of our pub nights again. He always says he’s too busy with work, but I suppose he was actually just busy with you. You’re more than welcome to come too, of course. If you guys are now being open about your relationship then he’s no excuse to hide it anymore!” She waved goodbye and disappeared down the corridor before he could respond.

He sighed and dragged a hand across his face. He supposed it would only be a matter of time before all of Harry’s friends knew. He’d have to speak to Harry to see what he wanted to do—there was still time for damage control—Harry could owl Patil and ask her not to say anything…but would that look suspicious? What if she told her boss about it? He really didn’t know Patil enough to know her motives.

Before he could ponder any further, though, Harry stormed out of the Headmistress’ office, his expression dark.

“Harry…?”

“I’ll tell you later. I need to get out of here before I say or do something I regret. Come back to mine.” Harry picked Albus up and sat him on his hip then they disappeared into the fireplace before Draco had any chance to process what was going on.

“Father? Are we going to Albus’ house to play?” 

“It looks that way.” He placed a reassuring hand on Scorpius’ shoulder and then followed Harry through the fireplace.

———

After arriving in the living room at Grimmauld Place, Draco left Scorpius to play with Albus and then went in search of Harry. He found him in the kitchen, hunched over the worktop, his knuckles white from where he was gripping the counter so tightly.

“What happened? What did she say?” Draco asked without preamble.

Harry exhaled loudly and straightened up, releasing his death grip on the counter, then slowly turned to face Draco. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important now—Scorpius got accepted, by the way. It’s confirmed. You should expect the official offer in a couple of days.”

Draco’s relief at the news was tempered by his concern for Harry.

“If it was about me or my son, I deserve to know what she said.”

Harry looked pained. “Please, Draco. Can’t you just drop it? We won. As long as we can keep up the ruse for a bit longer, Scorpius is assured a place.” 

Draco felt a bit sick. It was a victory, it was exactly what they wanted, but he didn’t feel like celebrating. Harry’s evasiveness had him on edge.

“Potter,” he warned.

“Look, she’s a small-minded bigot, okay? So don’t take it to heart. Most people don’t think like her.” Harry turned away and grabbed the kettle, filling it from the sink. It was one of those Muggle things Draco had never understood the point of—what was wrong with a stove top? He waited patiently while Harry rummaged in a cupboard gathering things for tea.

“What did she say?” Draco ground out when it became clear Harry wasn’t going to elaborate.

He sighed and leant back on the counter, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. "Basically, she didn't believe that I would be with you unless I was being coerced or you cursed me or something. And then she said if she found out we were lying, she'd get you thrown into Azkaban or some balls like that. So—” he shrugged, slipping his glasses back in place and staring Draco straight in the eyes. “—I told her to fuck off.”

“You did what!?”

“It’s wrong that people still treat you like you’re inherently bad—I hate it, okay? So I’m not going to apologise for standing up for you.”

“I can fight my own battles, Potter. I’m not some wilting daisy you need to protect—I mean, look what’s happened! I was prepared to get Scorpius a tutor, I had accepted he wasn’t welcome at that school, but you _had_ to get involved. And now what? We have to pretend to be together indefinitely so that she doesn’t get me arrested for some trumped-up misdemeanour? Can she even do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe? Look, it’s going to be fine. We only have to be together as far as the school knows. No one else has to know we’re engaged. I mean, I’ve told Gin, Ron, and Hermione, obviously, but they know it’s fake, so we don’t have to pretend in front of them.”

"Blaise and Pansy know too," Draco added quietly. Harry raised his eyebrows but didn't comment.

“But what if it gets out?” Draco asked, thinking about the likelihood of Patil keeping her mouth shut. “Do you really want the entire wizarding population to think that you’re with me? What if you meet someone you like?”

“When would I have time to meet anyone?” Harry laughed. “Besides, I don’t care who knows we’re together. You’re a good man, Draco. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Draco’s heart stuttered in his chest. The way Harry spoke, the way he looked at him sometimes, it was almost enough to make him believe Harry really felt something for him. He turned and pretended to study the back of a paperback he found lying on the counter so Harry couldn’t see how much his words affected him. “Yes, well. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling everyone else that—no one else seems to have gotten the memo.”

“Draco—”

Harry never got to finished what he was going to say because, at that moment, James darted into the room and launched himself at Harry. Ginny appeared in the doorway a moment later with Albus clinging to her, his face buried in her neck. Scorpius was holding her hand, but when he saw Draco, he let go and ran to him with an elated cry.

“Hi, Gin,” Harry said.

“I just brought James over, but then I found these two scribbling on your coffee table, Harry. If Al starts doing that at my parents’ then I’m blaming you,” she said sternly, although she looked more amused than annoyed.

"Well, we'd better be off," Draco said, suddenly feeling out of place. "If Scorpius has damaged anything, I'll pay for repair or replacement. Bye." He scooped Scorpius up an moved to the door.

“Bye Draco—see you at work!” Harry shouted over the noise of his sons squawking at each other.

“Try not to get Blaise too drunk on Saturday,” Ginny added. “He was useless all Sunday last time!”

Draco looked back as he left the kitchen and saw he’d already been forgotten. Ginny reach past Harry to grab some dishes from the cupboard, while Harry set a pan on the stove. Albus had dragged a chair over to ‘help’ while James darted around between everyone. It was so domestic and Draco felt his heart clench. He wanted that.

That evening, Draco tried his best not to think about Harry’s words, but they circled around in his head on a continuous loop, mocking him with what he could never have. _Anyone would be lucky to have you_. He didn’t dare hope for a second that he and Harry could ever have that closeness, that relaxed atmosphere, that he and Ginny had together, but he wondered whether he’d ever have it with anyone. He and Astoria had been close, and he still considered her to be one of his best friends, but they never would have lasted long term, even if she hadn’t met her wife. Astoria wanted her own life, she didn’t want to be tied down with children. Scorpius had been the one concession to her parent’s wishes that she continue their bloodline, but she’d never had any intention of settling down into family life with Draco. That had been his dream, not hers.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco stayed home from work for the first part of the week because somehow Scorpius had managed to get sick. He didn't ordinarily take days off work because he didn't want Robards to realise he was expendable, but he wasn't particularly keen on running into Harry after the meeting at the school on Friday. The acceptance letter from the school had arrived, as Harry predicted it would, but any excitement Draco might have felt was marred by the knowledge that the Head teacher didn't actually want his son there. Nonetheless, he told Scorpius the ‘good' news anyway. The subsequent look of utter delight on his son's pale face was enough to make him push aside the worst of his doubts. He reassured himself that Patil would never mistreat Scorpius in any way, and tried to summon a little more enthusiasm—after all, they’d won. His son had a place at what was arguably the best wizarding primary school in Britain.

He had half-expected Harry to show up at his door wondering where he was when he didn’t show up for work for a couple of days since he’d found some excuse to visit Draco’s desk every day the previous week. At the very least, he had expected an owl. The complete lack of anything just confirmed to Draco that any deeper meaning he’d read into their relationship was a figment of his imagination—a case of his desire overriding his common sense. Why would Harry care or even notice that he was absent from work? Everything between them was a lie. They probably weren’t even real friends.

When Draco walked into the office on Wednesday morning, he immediately felt that something was off. If he was being honest, something had felt a bit off since he’d first stepped out of the Floo into the Atrium, but he put it down to having had the weekend and then two further days of seclusion from the outside world with no one but Blippy and Scorpius for company. However, on his circuitous route to his desk, he slowly became aware of more stares aimed in his direction, coupled with hurried whispering behind hands, and heads ducking quickly behind cubicle dividers. He’d grown so used to being ignored of late, that he’d forgotten what it was like to be talked about, and he rather wished everyone would go back to pretending he didn’t exist. 

His initial thought was that something had happened at work—maybe a raid had gone bad or a dangerous criminal had escaped. The atmosphere was always a little different in the office after Aurors were injured or killed in the line of duty. That wouldn’t explain why people were whispering about him, though—and the deeper he headed into the office, the more certain he became that he _was_ the focus of the whispers. His mind then jumped straight to his parents. Had something happened to them? Had his father started trying to throw his wealth around to buy favours? But, no, they were in their villa in the south of Italy and his father lacked the mental capacity for that sort of thing these days.

When he passed by Harry’s office, he kept his gaze firmly on the floor, forcing himself not to look inside. If Harry didn’t care enough to notice he was off work, then he didn’t care enough to see if Harry was at his desk yet or not. He didn’t get far before a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Draco, wait! Do you have a minute?”

He turned to find Harry leaning out of his office looking rather harried for such an early hour. His hair was in more of a state than usual, as if he'd been raking his fingers through it over and over, and he'd not even put his Auror robes on yet. He looked like he'd Apparated in straight from his bed.

“I really should get to my desk,” Draco replied, edging backwards, eager to get away from Harry and thoughts of beds. “I’ve been off work for two days so I imagine there’s quite a bit to catch up on.” He turned to continue to his desk, kicking himself for not changing his route.

“Please, Draco, it’s important.” Harry’s voice came from right behind him. He sounded so close that Draco imagined he could smell the faint musk of his cologne. “Darling, please?” Harry said pointedly.

Draco snapped his head around and flinched at the closeness of Harry’s face to his own. “What are you…?” Why was Harry acting like this? He glanced around and at least a dozen heads popped out of sight behind cubicle dividers. 

“I take it you’ve not seen the papers?” Harry said, quietly enough that only Draco could hear. His chest was a hair’s breadth from Draco’s arm and Draco could feel his breath fanning across the side of his neck. He shook his head, unable to speak. He hadn’t read the _Prophet_ in years—it wasn’t much fun reading about what an awful person you were day after day. 

He felt Harry’s hand on his lower back and stifled a gasp at the barely-there pressure. “Please, Draco, come into my office and I’ll explain everything.”

There wasn’t any way he could resist now, not without creating a scene, so he allowed Harry to _escort_ him into his office. The curious eyes of half the office following them as they covered the short distance. It was turning into a very strange day indeed and Draco could feel his irritation mounting at the distinct lack of answers. 

As soon as Harry closed his office door behind them, shutting out the fevered whispers, Draco rounded on him.

“Would you mind telling me just what in Merlin’s name is going on?” he hissed. He didn’t know if Harry had a Silencing Charm embedded into the walls like Robards, but he didn’t want to risk drawing even more stares by being overheard yelling at Harry bloody Potter. Even if he did deserve it.

“Okay, I don’t want to alarm you, but…” Harry walked over to his desk and slid a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ towards him.

“I don’t read that filth, Potter. And neither should you,” Draco scoffed. He couldn’t believe Harry had manhandled him into his office to look that vile, gossipy rag.

“Just look at it, Draco. Then…I don’t know, feel free to yell, curse, do whatever you want.” Harry took a few steps back, presumably to give him some space, and Draco drew closer—more to shut him up than out of genuine curiosity.

Now he was actually looking, though, the headline splashed across the front page was clear even from across the room. Still, his feet carried him forwards. Bile rose in his throat as he frantically tried to process the implications of what he was reading.

_Harry Potter to Wed Ex-Death Eater!_

“What…? Wh…who…? How did this happen.” His voice came out as little more than a choked whisper. He snatched the paper off the table, hoping it had been a trick of the light or something, but no, the words didn’t change. 

“You really hadn’t seen it?” Harry asked, suddenly appearing at Draco’s elbow.

“What? You think I had something to do with this?”

“No! But when you didn’t show up to work…I thought…I dunno. I thought maybe you’d gone into hiding or something.”

“And you didn’t think to check I wasn’t being mauled by rabid journalists?”

“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t sure—”

“Of course," he spat. Of course, Harry Potter wouldn't care if Draco was having a little trouble with the press. This was probably all part of his grand plan, he thought sourly. "If you must know, Scorpius was sick, so I had to stay home to look after him.”

“Really? Is he okay?”

“Yes, yes, he’s fine. Focus. Why didn’t you tell me? When did this...” He read the date on the paper and rounded on Harry. “Sunday!?” He yelled, shaking the paper in Harry’s face. “You’ve known since Sunday and you said nothing!?”

“I thought you were mad at me! I almost called several times…”

“How could—” Draco cut himself off. Patil? Could she have leaked their relationship…? If only he'd said something to Harry, they might have been able to prevent it! He smoothed the paper out again and scanned the contents of the article, carefully avoiding looking at the ten-year-old mugshot they'd used just in case anyone wasn't familiar with either his name or his past.

_Witches and wizards across the world will be distraught to learn that the Wizarding World’s most eligible divorcé, Harry Potter, is well and truly off the market once more. We were as shocked as anyone to learn that Mr Potter’s betrothed is none other than his former school rival, ex-Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Follow this breaking story on pages three through twenty as we reveal exclusive details about this unlikely coupling from a source close to the notoriously private men._

Draco flipped through to the other pages, wincing at the full-page profile on the Malfoy family’s fall from grace, opposite a page detailing Harry’s many and varied good deeds since the war. He couldn’t bring himself to read it properly, just skimmed the text and scowled at the all the unflattering pictures they managed to find of him. It wasn’t even particularly good journalism. Half the content was obviously recycled from back when he still read the Prophet, and the rest of it was just pure fantasy. _Mr Malfoy’s acrimonious split from his wife forced her into the arms of a woman on the other side of the world._ What a load of bollocks! He furiously scanned page after page of utter tripe, hoping to find some clue as to the paper’s source but there was nothing. Just lies upon lies, liberally sprinkled with complete wank.

“It’s crap, Draco,” Harry said, wrestling the paper from Draco’s clenched hands. “Don’t read it. They don’t have any actual news—it’s all filler! Made-up filler at that. I think it might be an attempt by Agatha to discredit us,” Harry continued, oblivious to Draco’s knowledge of Patil and her potentially big mouth. “I’ve contacted them and asked them to stop using such inflammatory language, but you know what they’re like… Hermione says we can’t really do anything unless their reporters start harassing us or our kids.” He folded up the paper and stuffed it into an already overflowing drawer. 

Draco thought Harry might have continued speaking, but he stopped listening. All he could think about was Scorpius. What would this do to him? Their lie would be exposed for sure, the press would hound him, he'd lose his job and any goodwill he'd managed to scrape together in the last ten years, and no doubt Agatha would make good on her threat to send him to Azkaban. An unnatural calm descended upon him, as if his emotions just detached themselves and floated away. There was nothing he could do—he’d always known he was on borrowed time, that he deserved so much worse than he got for his part in the war, but he had hoped to at least be around while Scorpius grew up.

“It’s…well. I suppose it can’t be helped,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth. 

“You’re remarkably calm about this,” Harry ventured, peering worriedly up at him. 

He snorted mirthlessly. He wasn’t calm at all. His mind was racing, showing him all the ways he’d failed Scorpius, failed his family, failed _himself_. “Believe me, I’m not. But what can I do? That paper is determined to hate me—I’m never going to change their minds.”

“What? No. If they want to hate you, they can hate me too. We’re going to prove to them that we’re in a relationship. I don’t care what it takes—and I’m going to do everything I can to find evidence that Agatha leaked our private information to the press.”

Draco gaped at him disbelievingly. “You still want to do this?”

“Yes! It’s my fault this has ended up in such a mess, so I’m not going to let that ridiculous woman ruin your life.” He jumped from the desk and took Draco by the shoulders. Draco thought he saw his life flash before his eyes as his heart stuttered in his chest. “We’re going to be the most sickeningly in love couple that the world has ever seen!” 

Draco baulked. He’d seen Harry fired up with a righteous fury before, but never at such close quarters, and he had certainly _never_ expected to hear him say anything like that.

“Sorry—” Harry seemed to remember himself and dropped his hands to his sides, stepping back to put a more acceptable space between them. Draco wanted to reach out and pull him back, but he stopped himself. “I mean, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to…but please don’t think for one minute I’m going to abandon you now things have gotten a little sticky.”

“I…I…don’t know what to say. You’ve rendered me speechless. But,” he sighed and raked a hand through his hair, hooking it around the back of his neck and scratching a finger through the short, stubbly hair at his nape. It really was a terrible idea to keep going with the lie. Every ounce of his common sense was screaming at him to accept the consequences and quit now. He and Scorpius could flee the country and start a new life in Italy with his parents, or perhaps go even farther afield… He’d always quite liked the idea of Canada. But that would mean leaving Harry behind, and what if…what if this could one day be real? If there was even the slightest chance… “Okay. Let’s keep lying to the world, Potter,” he said, with much more conviction than he felt.

“Great!” Harry grinned. “Now, less of the Potter. It's Harry, remember? Oh! Or maybe we could try pet names to really lay it on thick,” he smirked and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, which looked so ridiculous, Draco couldn't help the way the corners of his lips curled up in a smile. "Come on, what do you think, babe. No? Okay, how about… sweetie? Sugar Lips? My precious little ferret?”

“Potter—” at Harry’s raised finger, he rolled his eyes, “Harry. I’m warning you, if you call me anything other than Draco or Malfoy, you’ll be feeling the sharp end of my wand somewhere most unpleasant.”

“Okay! No pet names. Got it. You’re the boss.” He grinned, eyes glittering with amusement, as backed away and sat heavily down in his chair. “You’re sure we’re okay, though?” he asked, staring up at Draco with those bright green eyes that featured in so many of his daydreams.

“Yes, we’re okay,” Draco replied, moving towards the door. “Perhaps we should meet for lunch, or just coffee if you’re busy, to discuss how we’re going to, um…take matters forward.”

“Oh! Yes. Yeah, I’ll come by your desk later. And try not to let the gossip-mongers in the office get to you. If anyone hassles you, send them to me.”

Draco glared at him before shutting the door. There was no way he was going to be a damsel in distress to appease Harry’s knight in shining armour kink.

He wandered towards his desk feeling strangely detached from everything around him. He could still hear the whispers and was very aware of the looks people were shooting him, but unless anyone deigned to say anything to his face, he decided that ignoring them was the best policy. He didn’t want to give his bosses any reason to sack him. He thought again about Scorpius and wondered how he was going to explain things to him. He might only be four, but he could be astonishingly perceptive sometimes—what would he think if he overheard people talking about his father’s ‘relationship’ or saw any pictures of them together? He’d never been more relieved that he no longer subscribed to the _Prophet_ —at least Scorpius hadn’t been subjected to seeing a mugshot of his father over his porridge in the morning.

When Draco reached his desk, he found a generous slice of Bakewell tart with a note beside it. He eyed the cake suspiciously. It was one of his favourites, but with the mood in the office rapidly souring towards him, he wasn’t sure he should trust it; then he read the note.

 _Hi love, wonderful news about you and Senior Auror Potter. What a catch! I know you’re partial to a slice of Bakewell now and then, so I baked you one special. Tell him from me, if he don’t treat you right, Sheila will have his goolies. Congratulations, and love to you both. x_

Draco’s eyes prickled uncomfortably as he read her note again and he had to blink a few times to chase the tears away. It felt so good to have someone on his side. She had no ulterior motive, no reason to be nice to him. She had just started talking to him one day because, as she’d put it, he’d looked a bit blue and reminded her of her grandson, and she didn’t like to see him sad. But then came the feelings of guilt, because Sheila was happy for him, and he’d done nothing to deserve it.

He considered saving the cake to share with Harry but decided that if Sheila had wanted Harry to have cake, she would have given him his own slice. Casting a couple of detection charms, just in case, Draco sat at his desk and tried to put all of his worries out of his head. He was here to work and eat cake. Everything else could wait.

———

He took his lunch at his desk that day since it was still so cold and wet outside and he was keen to limit his travel through the office until the fuss with Harry had died down. One of the very few things he actually liked about his job was that his desk was out of the way of everyone and on a direct route to nowhere, so he didn’t have to deal with people popping in for no reason. Therefore, he was able to avoid most of the whispers and stares by simply staying put. Harry still hadn’t turned up, but Draco wasn’t too worried; he was a busy man, and he probably had more people than usual collaring him for ‘quick’ chats. 

Draco had just tidied away his lunch box and cleaned his area of stray crumbs when a bright red internal memo flapped into his cubicle. He watched it make a quick circuit of his desk and then plucked it from the air before it could start flying at his head. The yellow memos would happily flap around all day, but the red ones required urgent attention, or they would rapidly become a nuisance.

He tapped the memo with his wand and it unfolded on his desk.

_See me in my office at your earliest convenience,  
Head Auror Robards._

Draco blanched. Why did Robards want to see him? Nothing good ever happened to people summoned to the Head Auror with a _bright red memo_. It had to be to do with the Harry thing. Had Agatha owled in a complaint? Maybe some members of the public concerned about Harry’s virtue had rioted or staged a protest in the Ministry.

It was on slightly shaky legs that he made the journey to the other side of the office. The most senior Aurors had offices down a lavishly appointed corridor not too far from the main entrance. Draco thought he could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d walked along that corridor.

He knocked firmly on the door, not wanting to betray his nerves, then smoothed down his robes and checked again that everything was buttoned correctly while he waited for a response. After only a short while, he was summoned into a small antechamber by an elderly wizard with a short, neatly-trimmed beard that was completely at odds with his worn-in face.

“You can go straight through, Auror Malfoy. Head Auror Robards is waiting for you,” he wheezed.

Draco thanked the man with a polite nod of his head, then pushed open the overly ornate wooden doors and stepped through.

He had expected to find Robards surveying him sternly from the other side of his desk. He had _not_ expected to find the Minister for Magic sitting in Robards’ place, while Robards himself sat off to one side. Nor had he expected to find Harry Potter sitting opposite them with his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He glanced briefly up at Draco and smiled, although it looked more like a pained grimace. Draco noticed that Harry had buttoned his robes right up to his neck for a change, which didn’t fill him with confidence. Harry only wore his uniform correctly when things went very wrong and he had some grovelling to do.

“Auror Malfoy, thank you for attending so promptly,” said Minister Shacklebolt. “Please, take a seat.” With his wand, he levitated a paperweight off the desk and transfigured it into a chair in mid-air. It had barely settled on the carpet when Draco eagerly swept forward and sat in it. He wasn’t sure his legs would be able to take his weight for much longer. Nerves had turned them to jelly.

“I'm sure you're both aware of why I called you here today,” Shacklebolt said. His deep voice was sombre as if he were speaking at a funeral rather than at what appeared to be an impromptu disciplinary hearing. Draco hoped it wasn't a sign of things to come—he really didn't want to get fired. He glanced over at Harry to see if he had a plan of how to play this, but Harry was too busy staring down the Minister for Magic to notice Draco looking at him. “In case you're not, let me explain. It has recently come to our attention that the pair of you are in a serious relationship. Now, I'm sure you read the rules thoroughly before you graduated from the academy, so you'll know that fraternisation between Aurors on active duty, while not expressly forbidden, is frowned upon. This isn't because we want to ruin everyone's fun, but because personal relationships can cost lives in the field.”

He paused, as if waiting for a response, so Draco hurriedly nodded his understanding. “Yes, sir,” he added in case they needed verbal acknowledgement. He wondered if they remembered that he was never actually allowed in the field so it was a moot point.

“Yes, sir. I won’t let our relationship affect my professional conduct,” Harry said blandly.

“Very well. If you were on the same team, I might advise splitting you up and placing you on separate details, but as it is, I don’t believe there are many occasions, if any, where you both might be in the field together, so I think we’ll leave things as they are. Do you have anything to add Gawain?”

“No, Minister. I think you’ve covered it. I’ll just say this though; if I get even a hint that your personal lives are affecting yours or anyone else’s ability to perform their job, then I won’t hesitate to fire the pair of you.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry and Draco mumbled together.

———

By unspoken agreement, Draco followed Harry after they were dismissed and they covered the distance to Harry’s office in strained silence. Draco knew that if they were going to keep the lie going, they’d need to come up with a better strategy to avoid getting found out; judging by the set of his jaw and the intense glare he was giving the carpet, Harry had come to the same conclusion. Johnson wasn’t around when they got back so Draco flopped into her chair and buried his face in his hands, letting out a large, muffled groan. Since the start of their arrangement, he had found himself constantly veering between trying to enjoy it for what it was (a taste of what he could never have) and panicking about his life falling apart when the truth inevitably came out. Now, though, everything was rapidly spiralling out of control. How had they ever thought they could get away with only a few people knowing about it? 

“We should tell them,” Draco said, dropping his hands from his face.

Harry was slumped forward with his forehead pressed to his desk, but he popped his head up after Draco spoke. His hair was looking wilder than it had done in the meeting, and he’d already undone the top few buttons of his robes in the brief window Draco hadn’t been paying attention. “Tell who what?” 

“We should tell Robards and Shacklebolt that it’s a lie.”

Harry shook his head frantically. “No, we can’t, it’s too risky. Too many people know already. It’ll be much more convincing the fewer people there are who know the truth.”

“But it's only Robards and Shacklebolt." Draco urged. "Didn't you hear what they said? Our jobs are on the line! It may not mean much to you because people will be tripping over themselves to offer you work if you get fired, but if I lose this job, that's it. I'm finished. And not only is no one going to want me, but I'll also probably get arrested for leading you astray.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Potter, I assure you, it is _exactly_ that bad. You could murder a puppy in the middle of Diagon Alley and they’d find a way to blame me. It may have escaped your notice, but believe me when I say I’m not well liked. Not everyone is as forgiving as you,” he finished quietly.

Harry stared at him, slack-jawed, eyebrows pinched together. Draco could feel the pity rolling off him in waves and he wanted to leap up and yell and throw things and hide all at the same time, but he did nothing. He sat there with a face like stone, hands clenched into fists on his legs, and he dared Harry to even try and console him.

“That's even more reason why we can't tell them then,” Harry stated. “They'll want to know why it's a lie. They'll find out about the school, and find some way to turn it against you. I won't have that. If we can convince everyone that…that…” He glanced away and dragged a hand through his hair, his frown deepening. “…that I love you for you, then maybe they'll start to see you as a person rather than a convenient scapegoat.”

“Harry…” Draco said, his voice sounding hoarse and broken. How could he say these things? Did he not hear himself? He let out a breath slowly through pursed lips and Harry took his silence as agreement.

“It’ll be okay, Draco. Don’t stress. We can do this, remember?” Harry grinned at him, looking so genuinely happy that Draco felt his irritation slip away even as he chided himself for rolling over so easily. If Harry only knew how much control he had over Draco things could get very messy indeed.

He headed back to his own desk a short while later. Johnson had come back, taken one look at the pair of them, and disappeared again with a knowing smirk plastered across her face, so Draco felt he had no choice but to leave before rumours of him and Harry getting up to all sorts in Harry’s office started flying around. He threw himself into his work, deciding that if he kept himself busy enough, he wouldn’t have time to think. He was so engrossed in his cross-referencing, he didn’t even notice the memo soaring into his cubicle until it fluttered in front of his face and settled squarely in the middle of the file he was reading. It was green, and folded into a paper crane, so it clearly wasn’t a standard memo. He tapped it once with his wand to unfold it and couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face when he recognised the messy scrawl.

_My beloved,  
I forgot to mention before, but there’s a birthday party at the Burrow on Sunday for Roxi (one of James and Al’s cousins) and Albus wanted me to invite Scorpius. You’re obviously invited too!   
I know you’re not the biggest Weasley fan, but it would probably be a great time to ‘meet the family’. Molly’s about ready to have my nadgers for getting engaged before even telling her we were dating, so she’s quite keen for you to come round as soon as possible. I think she’s scared we might elope!  
Anyway, let me know!  
H xxx  
P.S. I hope you like the memo—I got the idea off this blond twat I used to go to school with._

Draco sat back heavily in his chair, tilting his head to the ceiling. He could think of few worse ways to spend a Sunday, but Scorpius would no doubt love every second. He muttered to himself as he snatched a clean piece of parchment out of a drawer and scribbled back a quick reply.


	7. Chapter 7

The Burrow loomed over him. The Weasley stronghold. Draco had never seen anything quite like it in all his years. Not only did it appear to be primarily constructed out of wood, but rooms seemed to have been attached at random and held in place with nothing but a couple of nails and haphazardly positioned posts.

Draco smoothed a hand over his robes and checked again that he had everything. 

Gift for small Weasley child: check.   
Gift for Weasley matriarch: check.   
Change of clothes for Scorpius (just in case): _check._

He still couldn’t quite believe he had agreed to go. He’d tried to get away with saying Scorpius could go alone, but Harry had, of course, talked him around. _‘Draco, we’re engaged. Realistically, I would have introduced you to the family long before this point.’_ he’d said, and Draco hadn’t been able to think of a good comeback so he’d pouted until Harry had given him the last bite of his Victoria sponge.

Scorpius tugged on his hand and pointed excitedly at the large marquee peeking out from around the back of the house. When Draco had casually mentioned the party over breakfast that morning, Scorpius’ eyes had gone so wide that Draco momentarily worried for his health; he’d not stopped talking about the Potters since, much to Draco’s irritation. As they drew nearer, the laughter and squeals of happy children grew louder, as did the unmistakable hum of conversing adults. It sounded horrendously busy, and Draco’s feet grew heavy with reluctance. If it wasn’t for Scorpius’ buoyant presence by his side, he would probably have Apparated home. He’d already almost cancelled several times; he’d even started penning a letter explaining all the reasons why it was a horrible idea for him to go. He knew, though, that if he didn’t turn up to an important family event now that Harry’s friends and family now knew they were together, it might look suspicious. 

Despite Harry's assurances to the contrary, Draco was still convinced he wouldn't be welcome. Harry had told him it was a sixth birthday party for one of the small, female Weasleys—Rosy? Ruby? Rusty?—and that everyone would be focused on her and the other children, so Draco shouldn’t worry about his reception. He couldn’t help it though. The place would obviously be teeming with Weasleys, who all had a longstanding dislike of Malfoys, but what about other guests? Perhaps there would be people who had lost family members thanks to his father’s actions? Or people he’d personally wronged? He really hoped that the presence of children would stop any overt attacks, but even so, he planned on keeping one hand near his wand at all times. 

It suddenly occurred to him, as his mind cycled through all the horrible things that could happen in the next few hours, that he and Harry had neglected to discuss how they should act around each other. He had no idea how real couples acted in a relaxed-family-party situation—he hadn’t even been to a relaxed family party by himself, let alone as one half of a happy couple. People knew they were together—would they think it odd if he just stood stiffly by Harry’s side all afternoon? Would they be expected to hold hands or hug? What if he tried to stand too close to Harry and annoyed him? What if he didn’t stand close enough?

Draco felt another pull on his hand and realised he’d stopped walking again, much to Scorpius’ annoyance. He apologised and let Scorpius lead the way, plodding onward towards his doom.

They made their way cautiously around the side of the ramshackle property (Draco wasn’t keen on getting struck by a stray roof shingle or falling bedroom) and as soon as they rounded the corner of the marquee, they found themselves on the outskirts of the most raucous party Draco had ever witnessed. There were people _everywhere_ , dancing and talking and moving from place to place. Children zipped about between groups of adults, chasing and shrieking and laughing, and bright colours assaulted Draco’s eyes from every direction. Multi-coloured decorations hung from every stationary object and glowing fairies flitted between the foliage, alighting on anyone who stood still for too long. The air was filled with music and laughter and the hiss and crackle of fireworks. There were tables weighed down with a wide selection of food which all smelled delicious and made Draco’s mouth water. The thing that struck Draco as most alien, though, was the sheer number of red-headed people. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so many in one place. They covered every shade from strawberry blond to deep red to dark auburn. He had known that a Weasley family party wouldn’t be anything like the parties that his parents used to throw, where people stood around sedately talking politics while some banal music warbled in the background, but he never in his wildest dreams could have imagined something like this.

He panicked briefly that he wouldn’t be able to find Harry in amongst the rabble, but then he spotted him, his dark hair a beacon in a sea of orange. Albus was clinging to his side like a limpet. Draco could see why Harry had been so pleased that Albus and Scorpius got on well—Albus looked horribly uncomfortable. He was the only child not currently tearing around or shrieking at the top of his lungs.

As no one seemed to be paying any attention to him yet, Draco continued to silently observe. He told himself he was trying to work out how best to manoeuvre his way around the room, but that would be a lie. He was nervous. Sickeningly so. He really hoped Harry had warned everyone of his invitation because they seemed to be the ‘hex first, ask questions later’ sort of people. Thankfully, Scorpius appeared to have been struck motionless and speechless in awe of the scene before him, so Draco didn’t have to worry about him running off for the time being. 

He scanned the crowd for any more familiar faces. He recognised Harry's friend, Granger, chatting enthusiastically with someone he didn't know, and the Weasel was talking with an older man who might be his father. Harry's ex-wife, Ginny, was with Luna, and they seemed to be trying to marshal some kind of broom race between a few of the children. He didn't see Blaise anywhere, although that was unsurprising because he'd never been comfortable around small children. Blaise and Ginny had a strange relationship. They were both completely devoted to each other, but at the same time, fiercely independent. Draco had long suspected some kind of involvement with Luna too, but Blaise was notoriously tight-lipped about his romantic entanglements, despite revelling in gossiping about everyone else's. He recognised a couple of other faces too but failed to dredge up their names from the depths of his memory. They were probably people from school; he'd barely known the names of people outside of Slytherin when he'd actually been at school, so with ten years to dull his memory, he wasn't surprised he couldn't put a name to the vaguely familiar faces.

Draco turned his attention back to Harry, who now appeared to be trying to supervise a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-hippogriff, all the while holding Albus tightly against his side. He looked so content, surrounded by children and family and friends—he was completely in his element. Even with the heavy burden of a four-year-old boy on his hip, he was beaming and joining in with the game as best he could. Draco didn’t think he’d ever seen him smile quite so openly. He’d never considered before that Harry wasn’t happy at work, but seeing him now, compared to how he looked in the office, it was like they were two different people. It was as if being in the office sucked the joy out of him.

Before Draco could contemplate Harry's happiness any further, Scorpius spotted Albus. All hope Draco had of keeping a low profile (at least for a little while longer) fled with Scorpius' excited scream of _Albus!_ as he yanked his hand from Draco's grasp and tore through the crowd. A few curious eyes turned in his direction, looking to see where this little streak of platinum blond had darted from, but then came the gasps and muffled whispers as one by one, every party-goer was alerted to his presence.

Soon there was only the sound of the Weird Sisters' latest hit drifting across the garden as everyone stopped what they were doing to stare. Draco could feel his legs starting to tremble and was eternally thankful that he'd plumped for long robes rather than the Muggle outfit Harry had suggested. He clasped his hands together behind his back just in case they decided to shake too and fought the urge to sneer. Nevertheless, he kept his head up and met each glare with a steely look of his own. He wasn't about to show any weakness in front of anyone. 

“Draco!” Harry cried as he trotted over to him with a broad grin on his face. He’d set Albus down at some point since the stand-off had started, and Draco stiffened as he threw his now child-free arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"What…!?" he hissed, surprise turning his body rigid. Over Harry's shoulder, he could see some people start to turn away and return to what they were doing. There were still a large number of curious eyes on the pair of them, though.

“We’re in love, remember,” Harry whispered into his neck, and Draco thought he was going to faint. It wasn’t even an exaggeration. Unconsciousness was a serious possibility given how fast his heart was racing. “Hug me back, you idiot.” Harry tightened his hold and Draco tried to relax into it. He suddenly couldn’t remember how to hug though. His arms felt foreign to him as he brought them up and wound them around Harry, patting him awkwardly on the back as if he were soothing a child, or perhaps petting an animal.

At long last, Harry released his hold and Draco sucked in a breath once he finally had room to breathe. 

“Anyone would think you’ve never hugged before,” Harry chuckled, taking him by the hand and leading him over to the _pin-the-tail-on-the-hippogriff_ area where Albus and Scorpius were playing.

“You took me by surprise, that’s all,” Draco sniffed, affronted. “Perhaps if I get some warning next time, I can better prepare myself.”

Harry barked out a laugh. “Wow, okay, I kind of feel like I should be offended that you need to mentally prepare yourself for my hugs, but whatever floats your boat.” He grinned and playfully bumped his shoulder into Draco’s before turning back to the small group of children that had gathered to join in with the game. Draco had no idea what to do with himself, so he stood uncomfortably to one side, telling himself he was keeping an eye on Scorpius, even though his son didn’t even seem to realise he was still there. 

As Draco looked around the party, he realised that the majority of people were no longer sparing him and Harry any attention beyond the odd curious glance, so he finally started to relax. He watched Harry interact with the children, and exchanged banter with him while the kids took turns to be blindfolded and spun around. He snuck a few canapés off a passing tray and was pleasantly surprised by how tasty they were. Then Harry grabbed them a beer each from another passing tray, and Draco was feeling so at ease by that point he didn’t even scoff at the brand. It was, much to his surprise, not the horror show he’d been expecting, and he would even have gone so far as to say he was enjoying himself. Until, that was, his bladder reminded him that it existed and he had to excuse himself from the cosy little bubble he and Harry had created around themselves. Harry had suggested he find a quiet tree to piss behind when he’d noticed Draco’s reluctance to go into the house, and then found Draco’s horrified cry of _’Malfoy’s do NOT relieve themselves in the wild like woodland creatures, thank you very much.’_ endlessly amusing.

The brief excursion was, thankfully, uneventful, and he’d been pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness of the facilities (perhaps because everyone was peeing outside, he thought with a shudder). However, on his way back to Harry, looking forward to resuming their conversation, he found himself confronted by a round woman with kind eyes and ruddy cheeks.

“Draco, dear. I’m so glad you could make it! Sorry I didn’t greet you when you arrived. Some of the kids got into George’s latest box of samples for the shop, you know how it is. Anyway, Harry’s been telling us all about you. I can’t believe he kept you hidden away for so long! And your proposal, oh! How terribly romantic! How did you ever come up with it?”

As soon as she spoke, Draco realised he was standing before the Weasley matriarch. He’d never met her, but he remembered her from the battle. She looked no less fierce now, despite the vastly different environments, and the last thing he wanted to do was get on her wrong side. His mouth flapped uselessly as he frantically searched his mind for an appropriate response, but nothing was forthcoming. What did she mean, proposal? What had Harry been telling people? And where the _fuck_ was he?

Before the panic could completely overwhelm him, Harry appeared at his side as if summoned. “Draco, there you are!” he cried, beaming. He slipped an arm around Draco’s waist, then leant up and flashed him a small, apologetic smile before pecking him lightly on the cheek.

Draco let out a strangled gasp and tried very hard not to pull away even though it felt like his face was flaming. He’d known, realistically, that some degree of contact would be required, but that didn’t make it any less surprising to experience it. He felt like the imprint of Harry’s lips was seared into his flesh and he fought the urge to cup a hand to his face.

“Sorry Molly, would you mind if I steal my fiancé away from you for a moment?” Harry asked jovially, although the rigidity of his arm suggested he was more anxious than he sounded.

“Of course, dear. I remember what it was like to be young and in love,” Molly said with a fond smile. “Don’t worry about the boys, I’ll make sure they don’t get up to too much mischief. You two go off and enjoy yourselves.”

“Thanks. We’ll only be five minutes. Wedding stuff.” 

“You'll have to let me know what you want me to do. Obviously, you'll be having it here—it’s tradition after all—and I’m happy to do the catering—”

“Yes, yes. You’ll be the first to know once we can agree on something. Isn’t that right, love?” He tightened his grip on Draco’s waist and shook him lightly, his smile fake and his eyes pleading. “We’ll be back. Five minutes. Tops.”

Draco let Harry drag him by the hand into the house, and then up several flights of stairs to a small room that looked like it was being held together by Spellotape and Chudley Cannons posters. He would have protested, but all he could think about was Harry’s hand around his, and Molly Weasley’s last words.

“I don’t care how traditional it is. We are NOT getting married here,” he stated, rounding on Harry as soon as the door clicked shut behind them. 

Harry stared at him in bemusement and then burst out laughing. It was an enormous belly laugh that filled the room, and Draco could only glare while Harry leant forward, hands on his thighs, and tried to catch his breath.

“What?” Draco asked once the laughter trailed off into a breathy chuckle. He failed to see the hilarity, and if Harry really thought they’d—

“Draco,” Harry said soberly, straightening up and wiping the tears from his eyes. “I promise you, if we ever were to get married—for real, I mean—I’d never even consider forcing you to do it here. I think it’s beyond even _my_ powers of survival to endure your wrath if that happened. I’d much rather take my chances with Molly,” he added with a grin, his eyes still glittering with mirth.

“Oh. Well. That’s okay then.” Draco was filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the close, stuffy room. He needed a moment to gather himself so he averted his eyes and pretended to be extremely interested in a small figure of Martin Miggs that was gambolling along the window sill. When Harry said things like that it was hard to remember where the lie ended and the truth began.

The bed springs protested loudly, and Draco looked over his shoulder to see Harry sitting on the edge of the bed, all amusement gone.

“So,” he started, peering up at Draco from beneath his fringe. He looked younger all of a sudden. Much more like the Harry he remembered from school, rather than the confident Auror and father he was now. “I guess we need to talk. I may have overlooked how nosey my family is.”

Draco turned to give him his full attention, folding his arms across his chest and quirking up an eyebrow in question. He had the awful feeling that Harry was about to admit something that he suspected Draco wouldn’t like. “Go on…” 

“I may have had to make up a few things on the spot—”

“Like how I proposed, you mean?”

“Yeeeah, that. And, um. How we met, how long we’ve been dating, where we plan to live after we marry…”

“…and?” Draco urged, rotating his hand in a winding motion. “Don’t stop now, when you’re clearly on a roll.”

Harry sighed and dropped his head back. “And the date of our wedding,” he said with a grimace.

“Oh! So just a few minor details, then,” Draco bit back sarcastically.

“Look, it’s not my fault we didn’t talk about this stuff beforehand—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“No! But…I don’t know. They put me on the spot! I panicked!”

“Well, that’s alright then. As long as you were _panicking_ you’re completely absolved of all guilt!” Draco turned his back on him and glared down at Martin Miggs who was now doing a weird sort of jig with a Chudley Cannons player.

“Draco…” Harry grumbled wearily after a minute or two and Draco sighed, knowing that no matter how irritated he was, he couldn’t ignore the fact that they needed to get their story straight.

When Draco turned around, Harry was leant back on his hands, legs stretched out in front him, his compact, muscular body looking unusually lithe. His head was tilted up at the ceiling again, so Draco allowed himself a brief moment to just appreciate, unobserved. He let his gaze drag lazily from the stubble that crept down his neck drawing his eye to the way his t-shirt stretched across his chest, showing off the shape of a nipple piercing he’d heard rumour of but never seen before. His eyes traced down a beautifully toned abdomen and along the sliver of skin that was visible above his waistband, a tantalising glimpse of coarse dark hair— No. He ripped his eyes away, chiding himself for getting so easily distracted.

“Please enlighten me. When exactly are we getting married?” he snapped.

Harry jumped at the sound of his voice and sat up, dragging a hand absently through his hair. “Um. The fifth of June.”

“My _birthday_!?” Draco shrieked. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on and inhaled slowly and deeply to try and forestall it. “You told everyone we’re getting married on my birthday, in four months time?” he asked with deliberate calm.

“I was panicking, remember? And it’s the first date that came to my head, other than the kids’ birthdays, and I couldn’t well use them, could I! And anyway, I said it wasn’t until next year, so we’ve actually got a _year_ and four months to sort this out.” Harry shook his head, grinning sheepishly. “Seriously, you have no idea what it’s like when Molly wants information out of you. She should be an Auror!”

Draco narrowed his eyes. He would not be drawn into passing blame around. He just wanted to know the details so he wouldn’t look like a stuttering fool the next time someone quizzed him. “And the proposal?” he asked, keeping his posture rigid.

“Er, moonlit picnic in the park where you first told me you loved me. Very romantic. Flowers, champagne, the whole shebang. You swept me off my feet.”

“A picnic? In a park? Surrounded by whatever ne’er-do-wells frequent those places at night?”

“It was a nice park! Not a ne’er-do-well in sight.” Harry pouted. 

Draco rolled his eyes. There was no point arguing. The damage was already done. “Fine!” he huffed. “But just so you know, if this relationship was real, I would have done something much more spectacular than a moonlit picnic in a park. Honestly, a picnic, Potter?” He threw his arms up despairingly. “What must people think of me?” 

“Well, I thought it was nice,” Harry muttered.

Draco glared down at him, but Harry wouldn’t meet his gaze. If Draco didn’t know better, he’d have thought Harry looked hurt, but he dismissed that thought as soon as it flitted across his mind. Why would Harry be hurt that Draco wasn’t impressed by his fake proposal idea? He heaved out a sigh and sat down heavily on the bed beside Harry.

“Go on then, what else should I know about our relationship?” he prompted, deciding they needed to move things along before someone came looking for them.

Harry was silent a beat longer, but then started talking. The longer he spoke, the more enthusiastic he became, until once again, Draco found himself getting swept along too. He marvelled at the level of detail Harry had gone into—how they'd started dating after Harry had accidentally knocked into him one day and spilt his drink; how he fell for the way Draco's eyes lit up when he spoke passionately about something; how Draco pretended he didn't like Harry's fashion sense, but Harry knew he only said that because he secretly liked taking him out shopping and dressing him up; how Harry had known he was in love from the start but hadn't told Draco for six months because he didn't want to scare him off. Draco ate up every last fabrication, every single story. He could have listened to Harry talk about their relationship all afternoon, but eventually, they had to get back to the party.

“So, I guess that’s about it.” Harry shrugged. “I tried to keep it vague-ish to give us some wiggle room, so if you can’t remember anything and have to make something up, let me know, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Draco croaked clearing his throat when his voice came out much more hoarse than he expected. He doubted he'd have any problems recalling anything, though. He'd committed every last detail to memory. “But no making up any more stories without my consultation,” he added firmly, just to save face.

———

The noise from the party increased as they descended the stairs, and Draco was suddenly reminded of where there were. Part of him wanted to stay secluded with Harry in that bedroom at the top of the house, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist while they talked over the details of their relationship, but he knew he should probably get back to Scorpius before the boy started to fret. He also worried what people might say if he and Harry spent too long hidden away from the party—the last thing he needed was someone telling the _Prophet_ he’d abandoned his child at a party while he snuck off for a cheeky shag.

“Come on, let’s mingle,” Harry said, once they’d established the boys were happy. They’d been so engrossed in their game they hadn’t even noticed their absence, which Draco tried not to find too distressing. “Remember: we’re in love,” Harry whispered, taking him by the hand and lacing their fingers together.

Draco choked down a gasp, surprised at the contact, but thankfully Harry was no longer looking at him so his momentary stumble went unnoticed. Quickly recovering, even as Harry’s hand tightened around his, Draco rolled his eyes. “How could I forget,” he muttered, plastering a smile on his face and mentally readying himself for being the perfect fiancé.

One thing rapidly became apparent as they made a circuit around the party; being in a fake relationship was hard work, especially around people who were so bloody nosey. He could honestly say he’d never been asked quite so many probing, personal questions, ever. He’d stuck close to Harry, letting him do the majority of the talking initially, stepping in only when addressed directly. As the afternoon wore on, though, he started to relax into his role, even adding a few of his own details to their canon, such as how Harry had dropped so many hints about getting married, he’d practically scripted his own proposal by the time Draco popped the question; and how Harry complained about how Draco liked to hog the blankets, but really he just wanted to snuggle; and how Draco could get him to agree to anything by touching him in a certain way. Harry had blushed furiously at that last one, which Draco felt immensely proud about. By the end of the party, Draco even started initiating some casual touches himself; draping an arm over Harry’s shoulders, lightly resting a hand at the base of his back, rubbing a thumb across his knuckles as they held hands. He found it was actually rather a lot of fun playing at being Harry’s lover once he detached himself from his emotions, and let himself get carried away with the fantasy. It would hurt later, when reality came crashing back, but he angrily pushed away those thoughts in favour of enjoying the present. No one had ever treated him as well as Harry did, so he was going to make the most of it. 

Eventually, Harry got roped into another game with the kids—not that he looked too unhappy about it—so Draco was left to his own devices. Scorpius and Albus were still happily playing together; they’d attached themselves to Albus’ Uncle Charlie, who seemed just as keen to avoid the fuss of the party as Albus. The three of them had set up camp a short distance from the bulk of the party to play with some toy dragons that Charlie had charmed to belch smoke and shoot sparks from their mouths. It was such a sweet sight that Draco decided to stand and watch for a bit rather than try to join in and upset the dynamic. He didn’t really know much about Charlie other than he lived abroad and worked with dragons, but it was good to see that not all Weasleys were rabid hellions or nosey busy-bodies.

He was aware of someone approaching but, assuming it was Harry, didn’t turn to greet them and continued to watch his son play.

“Alright, Malfoy,” they said after a beat, far closer than he’d expected, and it was definitely not Harry. 

He spun around, heart in his throat, to find Ginny Weasley looking up at him, a calculating expression on her face. He felt a cold finger of dread trace down his spine, but she said nothing more, just silently handed him a Butterbeer and turned to watch Charlie with Albus and Scorpius. He suspected she was working up to say something but didn’t think it wise to prod her. He remembered quite clearly from school that she was fearsome when provoked, not to mention she had Blaise wrapped around her finger and he’d never known anyone capable of that feat.

“Whose funeral is it?” she asked eventually.

Draco goggled at her. Of all the things he’d expected her to say… “Excuse me?”

She gestured at his formal robes with a sweep of her hand, an amused glint in her eye.

“Well, excuse me for knowing how to dress,” he sniffed drawing himself up to his full height. “Harry informed me it was a party, so I dressed appropriately. It’s not my problem that the rest of you are unfashionable Neanderthals.”

Ginny snorted and shook her head. “You’re ridiculous, but I suppose I can see why Harry likes you.”

Why would she say something like that? “You know it’s not… _real_ though,” he hissed, checking to see that no one was close enough to hear.

“Obviously,” she replied, with an eye roll worthy of Pansy. “Look, I can’t say I approve of what you and Harry are doing. It seems to me to be a hideously convoluted way to go about— Nevermind. Just…Be careful. If either one of you fucks this up, it's the kids who are going to have to deal with the fallout. If either of my boys gets hurt, then I'm going to sever your bollocks from your body and feed them to you. Are we clear?”

Draco nodded slowly and shrank back slightly from the force of her glare. “Absolutely. I would never intentionally hurt the children.”

“I know that. Neither would Harry. But that doesn’t mean you might not _unintentionally_ hurt them. All I ask is that you’re careful around them and consider them before hatching any other ridiculous plots.”

“It was Harry’s idea,” Draco grumbled.

“Believe me, I know.” She took a swig from her bottle and made to leave. “See you, Malfoy. Remember what I said.” 

He watched her walk over to where the boys were playing and insert herself effortlessly into their game, laughing with her brother as they charmed the dragons to perform some aerial acrobatics for the kids.

Harry appeared at his side a few moments later, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. His hair was even more wild than usual, partly sticking up, and partly clinging to his head with sweat. "Merlin, I'm too old for chasing around after a bunch of seven-year-olds," he wheezed. 

Draco tutted as his took in his feral state, and didn’t bother to stifle the urge he got to tidy him up a little. Reaching over with his free hand, he fussed with Harry’s hair for a minute or two, raking his fingers through the strands as he attempted to tame it while Harry waited patiently.

“Hey, um, sorry for abandoning you,” Harry said, looking off to the side. “What did Ginny want, by the way?” He sounded like he was trying to be casual, but his voice was pinched. Draco dropped his hand back to his side and a pulled away slightly—when had they gotten so close? 

“It’s fine. She was just mocking my outfit. Nothing I can’t handle.” There was no need to tell Harry what else she’d said.

“Oh…okay. That’s alright then.” Harry shrugged, looking a little pensive. “I think you look nice, but then you could probably wear a sack and still look good.”

Draco stared at him, struck speechless by the comment. 

Harry’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as he realised what he’d just said. “I meant…fuck it, I don’t know. I never should have accepted that whisky from George,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and then through his hair, mussing up Draco’s careful styling.

“Thank you, I think.” Draco felt his face heat and he stuffed his hands in his pockets as he made a show of surveying the party. “Well…I suppose I should be getting Scorpius back home. It's getting a little late.”

Harry looked momentarily disappointed, but it was only a brief flicker across his face before he shook himself out of it. “Sure,” he said with a soft smile. “Thanks for coming today. It was really fun.”

“Yes…yes, it was,” Draco said, his mind going back to all the touches, the shared laughter, the feeling of being wanted—he was almost sad to be leaving, but he really did have to get Scorpius home. “Thank you for inviting me. And Scorpius, of course.”

“No problem.” The smile dropped from Harry’s mouth as he studied Draco with an unreadable expression across his face.

This was the point where they should be saying goodbye, but Draco couldn’t force the words out; he could only stare back at Harry. The silence between them stretched on uncomfortably and Draco started to chew on his bottom lip, a nervous habit his mother had constantly scolded him for as a child. His heart lurched when he saw Harry’s gaze flick down to his mouth and time slowed down.

“Well!” Harry said, clapping his hands together and exhaling explosively. “I guess I’ll see you Monday? Coffee and one of Sheila’s delicious creations?”

“Yes, Monday,” Draco agreed, his heart racing. What almost happened? And then suddenly Harry was everywhere, all around him, enveloping him in a tight hug and Draco was frozen to the spot, unable to even breathe. After what felt like an age, his arms thawed enough for him to hesitantly return the hug. He pressed his nose into Harry’s hair—after all, it was right there—and breathed in deeply. He smelt like sweat, musky and damp, and a little like bonfires on a chilly night, and underneath it all there was the fruity scent of his shampoo. He smelt like a cool Spring evening after a warm day spent outdoors. He smelt like Harry, and Draco never wanted to let him go.

Eventually, Harry pulled back, but only by a few inches. He kept his arms around Draco’s shoulders, and looked pointedly down at Draco’s lips again, as if asking for permission, before leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to Draco’s mouth.

“So, yeah, uh..” Harry said, stepping back and scratching a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you Monday.” And with that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Draco to stare after him, absently rubbing his fingers across his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco felt drunk even though he'd had nothing stronger than Butterbeer all afternoon. He carried Scorpius through the Manor to his bedroom in a daze and found himself constantly touching his lips as his mind sailed back to the kiss. Harry had pecked him on the cheek several times over the course of the afternoon, and Draco had even reciprocated once or twice, but the kiss on the lips—chaste though it was—had felt like so much more. He tried to tell himself it didn’t mean anything; that it was probably the whisky Harry had mentioned drinking. Maybe he’d had more than one and had gotten drunk without Draco noticing? Or maybe it had been spiked? If it was from George, it could have had anything in it—love potion, Veritaserum…but no, neither theory seemed likely. He chided himself for reading too much into things and over-thinking it—Harry was just putting on a good act for their audience, nothing more.

The Manor felt cold and lifeless in comparison to the Burrow. He wondered why he’d never noticed how…empty, how _soulless_ it was. He remembered it being slightly warmer when he’d been growing up—there may have only been the three of them, but there’d been enough house-elves and visitors to make it feel busier—now, though, it was just him, Scorpius, Blippy, and hoards of painful memories. Not for the first time, he worried about the damage it was causing Scorpius growing up in such an environment—would his memories be happy, or would he only remember the loneliness. Draco tried to make it _homely_ by shutting off most of the Manor and only living in the one wing, but it was hard to forget about the vast number of empty rooms filled with relics from his past.

It wasn’t that he wanted to live somewhere like the Burrow, but there had to be a happy medium—somewhere warm and welcoming, without being too busy and overwhelming. On the walk through the house from the central Floo, he allowed himself a few minutes to daydream about what it would be like if Harry and his children lived in the Manor too. What would it be like to have the place full of laughter and warmth? He didn’t think there had ever been a time when that had been the case. Even as a child himself, it had always felt a rather lonely, unwelcoming place. Perhaps he, Harry, and the kids would find a new home—somewhere that was just theirs that they could grow and evolve with…

But he shut down that depressing line of thinking when he remembered that there would never come a time when he and Harry would live together. The happy family front was just that; a front. And soon enough, it would be nothing but a painful memory.

Scorpius made a little noise in his arms and burrowed his head further into the crook of Draco’s neck, reminding him that he really needed to stop dawdling and put his son to bed. Scorpius’ bedroom, at least, managed to be a warm, happy place. It always calmed Draco to come into his son’s suite and go through the motions of their nightly routine: toilet, bath, teeth, story, bed. 

The bedtime routine took less time than usual because Scorpius was too tired to keep up his normal barrage of questions, so after only half an hour, Draco was bidding his happy, sleepy son goodnight. The second he tried to leave the room, though, Scorpius spoke up, his voice bright despite being moments from sleep.

“Albus is my best friend. I love Albus. Is Albus’ daddy your best friend now? He’s really cool.”

“Harry and I are…very good friends, yes. Am I not _cool_ too?” Draco asked, his mouth curling awkwardly around the unfamiliar word.

“No, silly, you’re my father! I still love you, though. Can I play with Albus again tomorrow? His house is so amazing! And his Uncle Charlie is the best! I want to work with dragons just like him when I’m older!”

“We’ll have to see about playing with Albus. He might be busy, though. Now, try to get some sleep—you’ve had a busy day.” Draco said, tucking the blanket back around his son. “And you can tell me all about dragons tomorrow over breakfast, how’s that?”

“Okay. I know lots and lots now. Charlie told me everything,” he said proudly. 

"Good night, Scorpius," Draco said firmly. He could tell when Scorpius was winding himself up for a long chat and now was not the time.

“Night night, Father.”

Draco pulled the door shut and wearily made his way down to his study. He still felt in somewhat of a daze, but he decided he couldn’t retire just yet—he knew the second he stopped, thoughts of Harry would flood his mind, and he really didn’t want to deal with that at the moment. It was bad enough that his lips were still tingling from the briefest of chaste kisses— _did it even qualify as a kiss?_ —he didn’t want to give his brain time to replay every single brush of skin so he could obsess over hidden meanings. Going through bills and other riveting paperwork in his study would hopefully deaden his mind enough for sleep.

When he slipped into his office, he immediately noticed an envelope on his desk that hadn’t been there that morning. He approached cautiously, although common sense told him no one but Blippy would have left it there. 

His heart sunk as he recognised his mother’s delicate, looping script. 

_My dearest Draco,  
Please Floo-call us immediately upon receiving this. Your father and I would like to speak with you.  
All my love. _

Draco sank into his chair and hid his face in his hands. They had to have found out about the engagement. Why else would they be demanding a Floo-call? If it had been something to do with his father's failing health, there would have been a summons to their villa, or at the very least a few more details. He kicked himself for not thinking to tell them about it sooner. Of course, they were annoyed about finding out about their only child's engagement second-hand. He'd rather stupidly hoped that he still had time to break the news to them because of their seclusion from society, but he should have remembered that his mother had still managed to retain some of her gossipy contacts. Perhaps they'd even seen a copy of the _Prophet_ with his and Harry's faces splashed across the front page. He shuddered at the thought of his parents' anger as they found out about him and Harry Potter over their morning coffee.

He read the letter again and tried to determine if he could tell anything about his mother’s mood from her writing, but there wasn’t much to go on. However, the lack of flowery words and filler suggested she was rather annoyed. Before he could dwell on it too much, Blippy Apparated in front of him with a crack.

“Master Draco, sir. Mr and Mrs Malfoy require that you call them at your earliest possible convenience.”

“Yes, Blippy. I received their letter. However, I’m afraid I’m far too tired to deal with what that call will entail right now, so I think I will pass for the time being.”

Blippy wrung her hands together, “Mrs Malfoy was quite insistent—”

Draco scoffed. “I’m sure she was. I expect my father was growling in the background too, but pay it no mind. If they question me about it, I’ll tell them you tried your best to convince me.”

"Thank you, sir," Blippy said, her trembling ears drooping with relief. "Have you eaten? Can Blippy bring you anything? Would you like a drink?"

“No, thank you, Blippy. I’ll be fine.” Draco looked back at the letter again and grimaced. He wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon—not with so much whirring through his brain. He didn’t fancy getting caught out by his parents if they decided to try and Floo-call him again, though. “On second thought Blippy, would you mind drawing me a bath in my en-suite, and bringing me up a cheese board and a bottle of red? One of my father’s special vintages should do it. Then you can take the rest of the night for yourself.” 

“Certainly Master Draco. Blippy will do that right away.”

She Disapparated with a sharp crack. Draco ran a hand over his face then let his head fall forward, thudding onto the desk. What in Salazar’s name was he going to tell his parents?

———

Draco was halfway through the bottle of wine before he worked up the courage to call them. He'd planned on putting it off until Monday after work but then realised that would be a bad idea because Scorpius would be around. If his father was going to get irate and start screeching at him, he'd really rather Scorpius wasn't there to hear it. Besides, the bath and some much needed time alone had left him feeling warm and relaxed. The ghost of Harry's kiss still lingered on his lips and had provided plenty to occupy his mind with while he was wet and soapy…

...but now was not the time to think of that again. He chided himself for getting distracted, then mentally prepared himself for what he was sure would be a horribly awkward call.

“Draco, darling. You’re looking well. Being affianced seems to agree with you.”

He tried not to wince visibly at his mother’s directness. It wasn’t unexpected. “Mother. You’re looking well yourself.”

“Yes quite—”

“Potter! Of all the people, why _Potter?_ ” his father yelled in the background. His mother briefly disappeared from sight and Draco heard a door slam before she appeared again.

“I apologise, Draco. Your father is quite upset, and understandably so. It isn't good for his blood pressure to get this worked up. Why didn't you tell us you and Mr Potter were in a relationship? Was it because you were worried about how we'd react? You know that I only want you to be happy, my darling boy.”

Draco was pulled up short by the hurt in her voice. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to crawl through the fireplace and into his mother’s arms so she could hug him and stroke his hair and tell him everything would be okay. But he and Harry had agreed not to tell anyone else the truth so he clenched his jaw and tried not to let the guilt overwhelm him.

“Are you happy, Draco?” she asked softly, leaning closer to the flames. He lowered his gaze briefly. Did she know the truth?

“Yes, Mother. I’m very happy. Harry is a wonderful man,” Draco replied, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

“Then that’s all that matters. Your father will come round. He just needs some time to process things.” She smiled and Draco felt like he was a child again, seeking comfort from his mother after spilling ink on his father’s best robes.

“Of course. I understand. Thank you.” He swallowed thickly, feeling the guilt curdling in his stomach, and took a deep breath to settle himself. His eyes burned with the promise of tears, but he refused to break down. He was just over-tired—he didn’t want to worry his mother nor risk her drawing the truth out of him.

“Now, when do we get to officially meet your wonderful Mr Potter?” she asked, with a girlish twinkle in her eye.

He baulked, the tightness in his chest only increasing as panic rapidly overtook him. “Is that really necessary?” 

“Draco! Of course, it's necessary. Not only do we have to welcome him into our family, but I'd like to properly meet the man responsible for son's happiness. You could bring him with you when you next visit—a visit which is long overdue, by the way—or we could Portkey to the Manor?”

“I…I’ll have to talk to him. He’s very busy with work and other commitments so I wouldn’t want to speak for him.”

“Surely he will find time to meet with his in-laws?”

“I’m sure, but…it’s complicated. You must realise that?”

“If Mr Potter has issues regarding the… _unpleasantness_ in our past, then all the more reason we meet.”

“Yes, Mother. As I said, I’ll speak to him.”

"Thank you, Draco. That's all I ask.” She sat back on her heels, apparently mollified for the time being. “Now, why don't you tell me what my favourite grandson has been up to recently?”

Draco sighed and thought longingly of his nice soft bed, which he obviously wouldn’t be seeing for a while. At least they’d moved onto an easier topic.

Once his mother _finally_ bade him goodnight and disappeared from the flames, Draco sagged with relief. The conversation hadn’t been as uncomfortable as he’d been expecting—probably because his mother had sent his father away—but he was glad it was over.

———

Draco felt abnormally jittery on Monday morning. He hadn’t slept particularly well, not with reruns of the party at the Burrow, warring for his attention with the knowledge he’d have to ask Harry to meet his parents. He had no idea how he was going to broach things with him. He didn’t imagine Harry would be too thrilled about having to spend time with Lucius or Narcissa. Neither could he imagine his father being too thrilled about having to spend time with Harry. There was no way he could see any interaction between the pair of them ending well. He had considered writing Harry an owl before going to bed just to get it over with, but he knew he’d only march into Draco’s office first thing and confront him about it. It was probably one of those conversations better had face-to-face, as much as the idea filled him with dread.

He ended up arriving at work much earlier than normal because he just couldn’t sit around at home any longer, even though that would mean potentially running into Harry before he was prepared. Thankfully, though, Harry wasn’t in his office when Draco slunk past, granting him a little more time to go over and over various iterations of what he could to say. He threw himself into his work to try and occupy his brain and stem the panic—he drank far too much coffee, organised the paperwork on his desk, sorted through his in-tray, and then went down to the evidence lockup (to continue his organisation of the shelves, definitely not because he was hiding)—but nothing distracted him for long. 

When he could put it off no more, Draco approached Harry's office. His heart was beating so fast, he felt like his whole body was vibrating with it. He clenched his hands into fists to stop the trembling and stuffed them into his pockets. He'd never done this before—it had always been Harry coming to his desk, visiting him, not the other way around—what if he was annoyed by Draco’s interruption? Several Aurors eyed him curiously as he approached, but no one said anything. No doubt the gossip doing the rounds later would turn the visit into something far more sordid than it actually was. Despite their ‘relationship’ being common knowledge, it still appeared to be one of the favourite topics of office speculation.

A large part of him hoped that Harry had been sent out on a mission, or was otherwise engaged elsewhere and therefore out of his office, but it wasn’t his day. Harry was there, drinking tea and frowning at an open case file that was spread out in front of him, while Johnson hastily scribbled away in a notebook. Draco loitered for a moment in the doorway, unsure whether or not to bother them when they were clearly both busy. If the relationship had been real, Draco would have had no qualms about imposing himself on Harry, but as things stood, he wasn’t sure whether Harry would appreciate the intrusion. 

Before Draco could make a move in either direction, Harry looked up and spotted him lurking. The broad smile that lit up his face was enough to make Draco’s knees weak, and he was glad the door frame was there to support him. Merlin, but he hated the way Harry could turn him into a flustered pre-teen with just a look.

“Draco! Come in! I was just going to come find you, actually. This paperwork is doing my head in.” He closed the file with a satisfying slap and pushed back from his desk a little way, stretching his arms to the ceiling. A tuft of hair was sticking up where he’d clearly been resting his head on his hand, and Draco was reminded of when he’d allowed himself to give into desire at the party and tease his fingers through Harry’s surprisingly soft locks…but that wasn’t something he should be thinking of now.

He stepped into the office, but kept one hand on the door, ready to beat back a hasty retreat if necessary. The cool, smooth wood was reassuringly solid beneath his fingers and helped centre him. 

“Is that all I’m good for?” Draco replied, relieved when his voice sounded much stronger than he felt.

Harry chuckled. “You know it’s not,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oookay. I’ll let you boys chat,” Johnson said with a smirk and Draco felt his face heat—he’d forgotten she was there.

“Please, don’t leave on my behalf,” he said, although secretly he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to have the conversation with an audience.

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, really. I’ve got to see Morley about the Higgins case anyway. I’ll catch you up later, Potter. Behave yourselves!” She pointed an accusatory finger at them before slipping out of the office with a laugh, closing the door behind her. 

Draco swallowed nervously. It wasn’t a bad sized room as far as offices went, but it suddenly felt about ten sizes smaller with the door shut. What would people think?

“She totally thinks we’re gonna have sex on her desk,” Harry snorted.

Draco stared at him, aghast. “And she’s okay with that!? What if she tells Robards?”

“Oh, relax. I was joking, mostly. She’d castrate me without a second thought if she found out my arse was naked anywhere in this room.”

“That’s…okay then.” Draco shifted his weight from foot to foot. He felt awkward, looming by the door while Harry reclined almost languorously on his desk chair, but the only other option seemed to be ‘sit on Harry’s desk’, and loom even closer. He supposed he could sit in Johnson’s chair like last time, but what if she came back? He felt a little wary of her since Harry’s ‘castration’ comment.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Harry said, interrupting Draco’s thoughts, “but why are you here? Is this a social visit, or strictly business?”

Draco took a few steps closer. “Oh. Right. Well, I spoke to my parents over the weekend. They were a tad annoyed that I’d neglected to inform them of our upcoming nuptials.”

“Ah.” Harry sat up straight and rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“Exactly.” 

“You should probably take a seat,” he said, absently summoning Johnson’s chair and positioning it beside his own. “Did you…um…tell them the truth?”

Draco gratefully took the offered chair, scooting it back slightly so there was a little more distance between them. “No. I…well to be honest, Mother looked so happy…I just couldn’t. And I know that Father would only try to blackmail you if he found out the truth, so I didn’t say anything.”

“Okay, that’s good then, right?”

"I'm not so sure. You see…" he paused, fingers smoothing over the bunched fabric of his robe on his lap. "Mother wants to meet you since you're to become family. I tried to dissuade her, but she was most insistent.”

Harry visibly paled and Draco held his breath. Was this it? Was this the line Harry wouldn’t cross? “But…she’s met me,” he spluttered. “They’ve _both_ met me! They know who I am.”

“Yes, but that’s not enough. She wants to meet you _officially_. I don’t know how things work in the Muggle world, but wizarding parents tend to take an active interest in their child’s choice of potential spouse.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, would I,” Harry snapped, and now it was Draco’s turn to drain of colour as he realised what he’d said.

“Sorry, I—”

Harry waved off his apology, frowning at an indistinct point on the floor while he tugging a hand through his hair. “There’s no way of getting out of it?”

“Well, you could always decline the invitation. I’m sure father would have a field day selling that story to the press.” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. 

“Ouch. Wow. No need to go all Slytherin on me.” Harry laughed, but it was fairly humourless. "Don't your parents live abroad somewhere? Are they planning on Portkeying in for Sunday lunch?”

“They've a villa in the south of Italy. It's actually rather beautiful, if you can ignore their presence. Mother suggested you join Scorpius and me when we next visit, but if you would rather just do lunch at the Manor then—”

“The Manor? I…I’m sorry. No.” Harry shook his head emphatically “I’m not sure I can go to the Manor, not to meet your parents. It’s…look, I know it’s your home but I—”

“It’s fine. I understand. I’m not particularly enamoured with the place myself.” He’d meant it to come out lighthearted, but Harry must have picked up on his bitterness because he looked at Draco with such unabashed concern, he had to look back down at his lap.

“Looks like we’re going to Italy then!” 

Draco snapped his head up. “Really?”

Harry shrugged. “Sure, why not. I could do with a holiday.”

Draco didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified that Harry had given in so easily. On the one hand, he wouldn’t have to evade his Mother’s Floo-calls, but on the other, he was now going to have to introduce Harry to his parents as his fiancé. Would any of them come out of it alive?

———

The Spread Eagle on a weekday lunchtime had become something of a tradition for Draco and Pansy ever since he'd graduated from the Auror Academy. It was a Muggle pub, far enough away from the Ministry and Diagon Alley that they were unlikely to run into other magic folk, but still easy to get to. They usually tried to meet at least once a week, work schedules permitting, but recently things with Harry had messed that up a bit. Pansy had been very firm in her owl that morning, though, saying that their friendship would be at risk if he wasn't at their usual lunch table at twelve thirty sharp. 

Harry had been a little put out that Draco had lunch plans with someone other than him, but Draco suspected that was more because of the wasted trip to his desk rather than any real disappointment. After a slightly disgruntled Harry had left, Draco thought perhaps he should have said something about having lunch plans _before_ Harry had turned up at his desk with a brown paper bag full of burgers and chips, but then, they weren’t dating, and even if they were, they’d never agreed to be _exclusive_ lunch partners. He’d never have cancelled on Pansy anyway—no matter how heartbreakingly disappointed Harry looked—Pansy had been his closest friend for as long as he could remember and he had honestly missed her the past few weeks. Spending time with her helped him feel grounded. She would remind him that no matter how people treated him, he was worthy in her eyes. That he was important to her.

Draco pushed open the door, slightly breathless from the walk, and immediately felt himself relax as the familiar aroma of stale beer and chips engulfed him. The interior of the pub was all dark wood, shiny brass fittings, and cream walls, giving it a traditional ‘pub’ look, but the high ceilings and large windows made it feel less oppressive. The plush red seat cushions had clearly seen better days, but it was clean and the food was good, if a little unimaginative, so Draco and Pansy always found their way back.

It took him a minute to find Pansy since she wasn't actually at their usual table, but eventually, he found her tucked away in a booth near the back. She had her usually sleek black hair gathered in an artfully messy bun, held in place by a strategically placed quill, and she was scribbling away in a wire-bound Muggle notepad, a half-drunk glass of wine beside her. Draco could remember teasing her when she'd first started her career as little better than a lowly tea girl at _Witch Weekly_. She now had her own regular (and very popular) column and freelanced for several other publications too, and of all his former Slytherin housemates, she was the most successful. She'd worked hard for her success, though, and it wasn't unusual to see her jotting down ideas as they came to her, because she was always thinking about her next story.

“I thought perhaps I’d been stood up,” she groused, tucking her notepad and pen into her handbag and standing to give Draco a hug. As she pulled back, she flicked his ear. “That’s for keeping me waiting, you absolute bastard.”

“Ow! I’m sorry. I got held up at work. I forgot to tell Harry I already had plans. He looked a bit dejected, actually.”

“Poor little kitten. How is the old ball and chain, anyway? I’m surprised he let you out.”

“What do you mean? He doesn’t get any say in who I have lunch with. He’s just gotten used to me having no other plans,” Draco sniffed. 

Pansy made a completely insincere pouty face at him, but he was spared any accompanying cutting response by the arrival of the waitress. He ordered without looking at the menu, but Pansy took a few minutes to quiz the poor girl about the specials despite knowing exactly what she was going to order. It was like a weird courtship ritual.

“I’ve missed our lunches since you’ve become Potter’s lapdog, you know,” She whined after the waitress had scurried away.

Draco scoffed. "I'm not his lapdog, Pans. And you know why I'm doing this. It's for Scorpius, remember?”

“Yes, yes, so you say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowned as Pansy reached across the table and patted his hand patronisingly.

“Please, Draco. I know you. Are you honestly still trying to tell me you’re getting nothing out of this little arrangement?”

“I…no, of course not. I mean, I suppose Potter isn’t _that_ awful, not like he used to be, but he’s always trying to get me to try strange new cuisines, and he turns up at my desk unannounced with coffee. Oh, and just the other day he even made me go to a party for one of the Weasley children—please don’t ask me which one. Can you believe it?”

“He seeks you out to spend time with you and he’s introduced you to his family?” Pansy gave him a curious look over the top of her wine glass. It looked like she’d just worked something out, and Draco had a strong suspicion that it involved him.

“It’s for the press, of course. We have to be convincing. Stop trying to turn it into something it’s not. And stop looking at me like that, you harpy!”

She pursed her lips. “Fine. I suppose you might be right. At least he’s not having to meet your family. Can you imagine the look on—” She cut herself off abruptly, and narrowed her eyes. Draco flinched. It was unnerving when she looked at him like that; like she could read every thought scrolling through his mind. He slouched down in his seat slightly and grabbed the drinks menu from the holder at the side of the table; anything to avoid meeting her gaze. "Draco, is there something you need to tell me?" She spoke carefully, a dangerous edge to her voice. There was a reason she was such a good journalist—her ability to read body language verged on creepy, and once she got the merest hint of a story, she didn’t rest until she’d unearthed every last scrap of information.

Draco sighed and slowly raised his eyes from the menu. There was no point in trying to keep anything from her. She’d find out one way or another. “Mother called at the weekend. They found out about the engagement. Harry and I are to visit as soon as there’s a gap in his schedule,” he blurted. 

“You’ve invited Potter to visit your parents? With you? Why?”

“Mother insisted; you know how she is. She wanted to meet Potter officially, so her and Father can give me their blessing.”

“You haven’t told her it’s a sham?”

“No! The fewer people who know, the better. I can’t have the school finding out.”

“But she’s your mother, Draco! Surely you could tell her?”

“It’s complicated…”

“It’s really not.” Draco looked away again, and he felt Pansy wrap his hand in both of hers. “I know you want it to be real—”

He snatched his hand back. “You don’t have any idea what I want,” he hissed. “You have no idea what it’s like for me, for my family. No idea. So what if I’m making the most of a shitty situation. Like you’d do any differently in my shoes.”

Pansy’s face crumpled. “I’m just worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt. I know how much you like Potter—” He opened his mouth to object but she silenced him with a raised hand. “—I know how much you like Potter, but you're not the only one who could be hurt if this goes wrong. This isn't your only option Draco. I've got contacts, Blaise has contacts; Millie, Theo, Daph. Even Astoria. Between us, we could get you set up with a new job in a new country, far away from all this shit.” She leant forward and took his hand again, only this time he didn't shake her off. “Don't ever think you're out of options, Draco. It doesn't have to be Potter.”

Pansy’s face shimmered before him as tears filled his eyes. He didn’t really want to think about the lengths she’d go to for him, but he knew he’d do the same for her without question.

“But it does. It’s always been him,” he admitted softly. He felt a tear spill over and track down his cheek so quickly dabbed at his face with his sleeve. Pansy squeezed his hand then passed him a hankie, smiling sadly. She didn’t press him any further, though, and instead started telling him about the story she was currently working on, giving him a few moments to compose himself before the waitress turned up with their food.


	9. Chapter 9

For the next few weeks, things were good. Better than good, even. On the weekends, they organised play dates together for the boys, and more often than not, a quick trip to the park in the morning would turn into lunch at Harry’s, which would then become a trip to Fortescue’s for ice cream. Before Draco would know what was happening, the boys would be curled up on Harry’s sofa watching Aladdin or Monsters, Inc. and it would be almost eight o’clock at night. On one particularly memorable wet Saturday, it had been pouring with rain so Draco took Scorpius to Grimmauld Place and they constructed castles with cardboard, pasta, glue, and copious amounts of glitter. That evening, sat in front of the fire while the wind and rain rattled the windows, with the boys huddled together over a Muggle board game, Draco realised he felt content for the first time in a long while. It was almost like they’d become a _real_ family. He could barely remember a time when Harry hadn’t been such a large part of their lives and it was hard to believe it hadn’t even been two months. He knew they should probably discuss what was happening, maybe establish a time frame, set boundaries and so on, but Draco was hesitant to bring anything up that might remind Harry what they had was pretend. It was deeply unfair and incredibly selfish of him, but in moments like those, when everything felt so calm and settled, he desperately hoped that Harry would just get so used to him and Scorpius that he’d sort of forget it wasn’t real. Draco wanted this to be his life—sitting watching a film or playing a board game together after a day spent crafting or racing around in a park. It was ridiculous to hope for one second that things could ever truly be like this.

Work wasn’t as easy as the weekends, although Harry’s visits made it much more tolerable. Draco became used to Harry turning up at random points in the day with coffee or snacks, or popping in to check if he had lunch plans before dragging Draco out to some new cafe or restaurant he’d heard of. In return, Draco made sure to always grab an extra slice of cake from Sheila whenever she’d been baking (which was most days—Draco suspected she was trying to fatten him up), and he even found a spare chair to keep at his desk permanently so they didn’t have to bother transfiguring one every time. 

Eventually, even the gossiping and whispering died down a bit, although Draco found that people still watched him keenly. He had gotten used to walking through the office almost completely unnoticed, but now he could feel eyes on him constantly. He didn't know what they were expecting to see; Pansy suggested they were jealous of him, but he wasn't so sure. He felt more and more that they were keeping him under surveillance as if they didn't trust that he wasn't doing something underhanded. It was like sixth year all over again, except this time, instead of Harry watching his every move, it was the entirety of the Auror department. He didn't think Harry had noticed anything, and if he had, he didn't bring it up with Draco, so Draco refused to talk about it. He didn't want Harry to start another crusade in his name considering the mess they were in with the current one.

Draco finally uncovered the main reason for the staring completely by accident. He was in the supplies cupboard one slow afternoon, looking for fresh parchment so he could continue with his cataloguing of the evidence lockup when he heard voices. The word ‘cupboard' was a massive understatement when it came to describing the room where all the stationery supplies for the DMLE were stored. It was a vast, sprawling room with row upon row of floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked high with every type and size and colour of parchment, quills, ink, folders, envelopes, and so on. Half the room was even dedicated to Muggle stationery since many of the younger generation of Aurors had realised the practicality of a biro and notepad over a quill and a stack of parchment. Draco was several shelves deep, a small, dim, conjured orb providing all the light he needed as he perused the available parchment—he didn’t want to take any more than he needed in case someone thought he was stealing it for personal use—when he heard the door creak open. Light streamed in through the doorway, and Draco peered around the edge of his row of shelves to see two people silhouetted in the entrance. He quickly ducked back to avoid notice since his presence tended to invite trouble. He didn’t doubt his ability with a wand—in fact, he knew he was more than capable of defending himself, even two against one, but he didn’t fancy getting into a duel in the supplies cupboard, especially with no witnesses to prove it had been an unprovoked attack.

The pair stepped into the room, lighting their wands as the door swung shut behind them. Draco shrank back farther into the shadows and muttered a barely audible _Finite Incantatem_ to vanish his orb, keen not to draw any attention to himself. Thankfully, though, his colleagues appeared to be too engrossed in their conversation to notice anything beyond the glare of their wands. 

"Yeah, I know. Dunno what Harry sees in him, to be honest," said the first person—Higgs—as they drew closer to the aisle in which Draco was hiding.

“It must be some kind of curse or love potion, surely.” Draco knew the voice but couldn’t place the name. She was one of the newer recruits.

“You think he’s _Imperiused_ him?” Higgs asked with barely restrained glee.

“Could have done, but why? We’d need proof either way.”

“Yeah, it’s weird. Like, they barely talk to each other and then suddenly, bam, engaged. How can you go from a stunner like Ginny Weasley to a pointy-faced Death Eater?” Draco clenched his jaw. He knew people distrusted him, but to hear them call him ‘Death Eater’ was a nasty shock—did they really think him no better than the criminals they chased? He scratched his nails absently over the faded tattoo on his forearm, stopping only when the sting of raw flesh brought him back to his senses. 

“…and you never see them out,” continued Higgs. Draco wondered briefly what slander he’d missed while busily hating himself. “Me and the wife go out to dinner, walk the dog, take the kids down Diagon, but you never see those two out anywhere! There has got to be something fishy going on.” _Of course!_ Draco thought bitterly. It couldn’t be that they just didn’t want to flaunt their relationship. _If it’s not reported in the_ Prophet _, it can’t be real!_ Had these people never had an original thought in their lives? 

“I heard that Obata asked Potter if he was cursed, and got hexed for the trouble, so no one wants to ask him again.”

“Really? I heard from Ackerman that Murcott said that Robards was keeping an eye on the pair of them, so he obviously thinks something is up. We’ll get to the bottom of it soon.”

Draco’s stomach churned. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard, but at least it explained why he felt like he was being constantly watched. Everyone was probably hoping to be the person to catch him slipping Harry a love potion. If his colleagues, people who should trust him, thought him capable of poisoning or cursing Harry right under their noses, what about the rest of the world? Aside from the odd article Harry showed him, Draco hadn’t read the _Prophet_ in years, and the Manor was heavily warded so only known parties could owl, Floo, or pass through the front gates, so he’d been living in a bit of a bubble. If Agatha Pole believed he was cursing Harry to get his way, Scorpius losing his place at Athelstan’s would be the least of his worries—the Child Protection wizards could take Scorpius from him! 

The voices faded away as Higgs and his friend left the supply cupboard. Draco hadn’t even paid attention to where they’d gone; he’d been too busy panicking. He walked back to his desk with his head down and his supplies tucked under his arm. He’d finally felt like he was turning things around in the office; he’d even thought he was close to being let out into the field, but now there would be no chance. It felt like five years of hard work was all for nothing. Soon he’d have no job, Scorpius would have no school, and Harry would drop him.

"I come bearing gifts!" Harry announced, striding into Draco's cubicle as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I was thinking about how the other day you said you'd never tried anything but boring drinks in the cafe around the corner so let me present to you the _dun dun dun_ …" he paused, presumably for dramatic effect, "…Dragon Frappuccino!"

Draco gaped at the swirling mess of colour in the cup Harry proudly held out before him. “What on Earth…I’m sorry. I’m not drinking that. It looks like pixie vomit topped with whipped cream.”

“Yes, but it tastes amazing!”

“No.”

“Come on, just one sip? Would I ever lead you wrong?” Harry sat himself down in what had become _his_ chair, a chair which had slowly migrated around the desk over the past couple of weeks until it had reached its current position beside Draco. He placed the drink triumphantly on the desk, grinning expectantly. Draco flared his nostrils as he watched a glob of red and green froth dribble down the side and pool on a fresh sheet of parchment. 

“I said no! Now bugger off,” he huffed, half-heartedly trying to shoo Harry away. “I’ve got work to do.” 

Harry’s grin fell from his face, replaced by concern. “Is everything okay? Did I…have I done something to piss you off?” 

“No. I’m fine.” He knew it was unfair taking his bad mood out on Harry, but he didn’t have anyone else to vent to…and it was also technically _his_ fault.

“Shut up, you’re not fine. Look—your face is going all blotchy like it does when you’re mad and your nostrils have gone all flarey.” Harry poked him in the cheek and Draco angrily batted his hand away, irritation flashing up inside him.

“Maybe it's because I need to get work done, but as usual, you come waltzing in here like you own the place and plonk your arse down just because you fancy a break. Well, guess what, some of us don't get to break whenever we damn well feel like it. Some of us actually have to work so we don't get fired.”

Harry sat back, all amusement falling away. “What the— Where the fuck has this come from? Did I do something? Did something happen with Scorpius?”

“No! It’s…ugh. It’s so stupid.” He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “You know everyone around here thinks I’ve got you under a spell, don’t you?” He stared at the hideous drink, tracing a finger through the condensation on the cup.

“They think what?” Harry’s knee bumped into his as he shuffled closer.

Draco lowered his voice, struggling to keep the despair and frustration out of his tone. “No one believes we’re a couple, so what’s the point? We should just quit and I’ll accept the consequences. If people think I’m cursing you, they might take Scorpius away.”

Harry’s voice turned soft and he placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder “Draco, please don’t start thinking like that again. We can do this! We just have to be more convincing…”

He risked a glance up, flinching back slightly when he realised how close Harry was. Those eyes… “Harry…” he murmured.

“No,” Harry stated firmly. “We're not giving up yet. Don't listen to anyone else—they can’t prove we’re not together so…” A grin spread across his face “…we just have to act more over the top about it! And I have the perfect idea; we should go on a date! Somewhere the press are bound to see us.”

“But they’re still going to think I’ve _Imperiused_ you!” Draco cried, frustrated by Harry’s simplistic view of the world. “Believe me, it’s not worth it. No one thinks I’m good enough for you so a date isn’t going to change that.”

“That’s crap. What’s happened to you, Draco? Why do you care so much what everyone thinks?”

Draco pulled away and stood up, dragging a hand through his hair. He turned his back on Harry and stared at his succulents, giving himself a few moments to compose his response. “It’s not that I care,” he said tightly, “it’s that I can’t be _bothered_ to fight it anymore. People hate me—rightly so—and I can’t change that. All I care about is getting Scorpius the life he deserves.”

He heard a chair scrape across the hardwood floor and the rustle of fabric as Harry moved towards him. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, but Draco could feel the words brush against his skin. “You don’t deserve to be hated. I’m taking you out on a date, whether you like it or not, and everyone will see that we belong together. You’re more than good enough for me, Draco Malfoy, and I’m going to prove it to you one way or another.”

Draco shuddered. He could feel the heat of Harry’s body as he stood just behind him and he longed to lean back into it, let Harry wrap him up in one of his warm embraces and tell him everything would be okay, but then as suddenly as he’d arrived, Harry was gone.

He slowly turned around, feeling suddenly bereft, but then he saw the pixie vomit drink and felt lifted by the reminder of Harry’s enthusiasm. He wished he knew what was going on in Harry’s head; what he was he trying to achieve by all this. He couldn’t help but feel that whatever was between them, it had become about more than just the school. And it was getting harder and hard to pretend it wasn’t real.

———

When Harry had said he wanted to take Draco on a date, Draco had assumed he’d meant in a week’s time, maybe two, but no. Preparation apparently wasn’t something that Harry Potter needed, so it was only a day later that Draco found himself sweating nervously in Harry’s living room as he thanked Ginny for agreeing to babysit Scorpius.

Harry had refused to tell Draco where they were going, but apparently, it was a favourite restaurant of his. Based on past experience with Harry’s culinary choices, he was expecting an obscure Muggle restaurant, perhaps somewhere tacky like the American diner they had gone to before. When he looked around after Harry had Side-Alonged him and found he was in Diagon Alley, though, he felt betrayed. Harry knew Draco avoided this place like the plague.

“Before you hex my bollocks off,” Harry blurted upon seeing Draco’s face, “the whole point of this is that we get spotted, right? We want people to see us out together. If we went somewhere Muggle, then it would defeat the object of this evening.”

“Right. Of course,” Draco ground out, his stomach plummeting. Harry’s words hit him like a slap in the face. He could have kicked himself for getting excited about the date, but it was so hard to not get carried away.

“It’ll still be fun—just play along. We’ll give the papers plenty to report.” Harry grinned and took Draco’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “This okay?” he asked, raising their joined hands.

“Fantastic. Bloody great,” Draco snapped.

Harry sighed and nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on, don’t be like that. I know it’s hard, but you just have to pretend you like me for a few hours, then you can go back to barely tolerating me.”

Draco rolled his eyes. How could Harry not be aware of what he was doing to him? It was the worst form of torture—being so close to having what he longed for, but knowing it would never happen. Constant reminders of the lie pricking at him like needles every time he got too comfortable.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Draco kept his head high and did his best to ignore the stares, but he could still hear the whispers. Honestly, did people have nothing better to with themselves? He could feel Harry growing tense too, which actually made him feel slightly better. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but it felt like Harry was walking closer and gripping his hand more tightly. 

Draco was so focused on ignoring everyone, he was taken by surprise when Harry dragged them into a small side street.

"Here we are," he announced proudly after pulling them to stop in front of an old, wooden door squashed between two dark storefronts.

Draco looked in disbelief at the narrow doorway. He would have walked straight past it if Harry hadn’t been with him. It wasn’t the most welcoming looking restaurant—if it even _was_ a restaurant. There was a small sign above the door, red and gold letters on a black background, declaring the place to be _Chiang Mai_ , which wasn’t a restaurant he was familiar with…was it a joke? Had Harry set up an elaborate prank? 

“They’ve not been here that long—a year maybe? But the food is amazing,” Harry explained. “It’s Thai. Do you like Thai? Merlin, I hope so or this is going to be a bit shit for you.” He chuckled and raked a hand through his hair, upsetting whatever limited styling he’d attempted.

Draco didn’t want to let on that he’d never had Thai food—he didn’t want Harry to think him uncultured, so he shrugged with as much lazy arrogance as he could muster and turned his attention back to the less-than-salubrious surroundings. “Are you sure it’s a restaurant?” 

“Yeah! I’ve been here loads. I know it looks a bit small and dodgy, but it’s like the Tardis.”

“The what?”

Draco tried not to sneer, but it was hard to feel positive about a place that looked like it was doing everything possible to deter people from entering. Surely there was nothing good behind that door. He didn’t get a chance to voice his concerns, though, before Harry pushed it open and dragged him up a narrow, rickety, staircase. Draco wrapped his hand firmly around the wand in his pocket, preparing for an ambush, but then they reached the landing and he had to stop, staring in disbelief as the restaurant came into view.

“Told you,” Harry said, with an intolerably smug smile on his face. “What do you think?” 

There was a small podium to the side of the landing where a smiling host waited patiently to seat them, and beyond that, Draco could see several wood-panelled dining rooms decorated with gold leaf, intricate wooden carvings and exotic tapestries of elephants and golden buddhas. The rooms were dimly lit by small clusters of tea-lights that floated above the tables, which combined with the dark wood panelling to create a cosy, private atmosphere. It oozed understated elegance and Draco struggled to hide his wonder, especially with the way Harry grinned up at him as if immensely proud of himself.

“Reservation for two for Potter,” Harry said to the host, who’d remained quiet while Draco gaped in awe. She eyed them curiously, but her face remained politely blank, much to Draco’s surprise, and his opinion of the place grew by great leaps. It had been so long since he’d been out in public like this, he’d forgotten that sometimes, in the right establishments, money could go a long way toward buying indifference. He’d never thought this was the sort of place Harry would go to—it seemed far too elite.

They were lead to a cosy two-person table to one side of the dining room. There was a distinctly romantic air to the place and Draco wondered what it would be like to be taken here on a real date. Several heads turned as they passed, expressions ranging from disbelief to disgust to jealousy, and he held himself straighter. The boastful little boy that still resided in him, preened at the thought of all those people knowing that he was here with Harry Potter. He suspected at least half the room wished they were in his shoes, and it felt good to be envied for a change.

A candle in a ruby red hurricane vase sat in the centre of the table beside a white orchid, casting a pinkish glow over the table. It was busy, which made Draco feel slightly uneasy, but for their purposes, busy was good: more people to see them and report to the press. It was obviously the restaurant of choice for couples, judging from the sickening number of people gazing adoringly across tables at their partners. When Draco finally looked up from studying the room, he found Harry’s eyes on him, a soft look on his face—although that could have been an illusion caused by the dim lighting.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, clearly fishing for a compliment or some other positive affirmation.

“It’s not too bad, I suppose,” Draco replied, keeping his face carefully blank. He couldn’t afford to relax into the _date_ too much. He had to keep his guard up otherwise he’d risk getting carried away. But Merlin, it was hard when Harry looked at him like that.

“Come on, Draco. You’re impressed. I can tell,” Harry said, his eyes glinting with mirth.

Draco scoffed. “I’m impressed that they let someone like _you_ in a place like this, that’s all. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Potter.”

"Ouch. We're back to Potter, are we? Nevermind. I can work with that." He reached across the table, presumably to take Draco's hand, which was currently occupied with fiddling with his knife. He must have misjudged the distance, or speed, or perhaps he was startled by Draco's very obvious flinch, because he clipped the orchid with his hand and knocked it toward the hurricane vase. There was a desperate scrabble for a few moments where both Harry and Draco tried to right the flower and stop it falling into the candle flame causing their hands to brush as they simultaneously grabbed the vase.

Draco snatched his hand back and tried not to dwell on the embarrassed flush that bloomed across Harry’s cheeks, certain that his face was similarly affected.

“Smooth, Potter,” he smirked. He enjoyed seeing Harry looking flustered. He felt much more at ease with the clumsy, awkward version of Harry, rather than the self-confident Auror and father of two he was confronted with daily. Although what Harry had to be flustered about, Draco wasn’t sure. That abashed smile though…it was doing all sorts of unfortunate things to Draco’s insides. _Not real not real not real_ he chanted in his head, the words circling round and round as he tried to convince his heart of their truth.

“Can we try that again?” Harry asked, tentatively proffering his hand. “You know, so people can see we’re…”

“Right, of course.” He smiled and slid his hand across the table. Harry’s fingers curled around his, his touch warm and firm. The calluses on his fingers felt rough against Draco’s soft skin. 

“This is nice,” Harry said quietly, almost like he didn’t intend to be heard. When Draco quirked an eyebrow at him, he hastened to explain. “This whole thing, I mean. The restaurant, you and me, this—” he squeezed Draco’s hand, “—I could almost believe it’s real. Don’t you think?”

Draco swallowed thickly. He so wanted it to be real. His hand started to feel too hot in Harry’s grasp. “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. If we were to date for real, there’d be no ‘almost’ about it. You’d know.” Harry stared at him across the table, the candlelight causing shadows to waver across his face. Draco wished it was brighter so he could see the green of his eyes.

Before he could say or do anything stupid, a waiter silently appeared beside their table, and the moment was broken. Harry looked to Draco for permission, and then rattled off an order that only made partial sense to him. Clearly, he’d been here more than a couple of times. He even ordered them wine which, surprisingly, turned out not to be awful.

———

Harry was being a perfect gentleman and Draco hated it. They hadn’t done anything more than hold hands across the table, though, and thankfully that had come to an end once the food arrived. Harry had tried to feed him some of his starter, offering a forkful of food across the table at him, his eyes hopeful, but Draco had to draw the line somewhere and being fed like a child was where he decided to draw it. Harry had looked disappointed but he covered it well.

“Over your shoulder, two tables back. That’s Cheverton from the _Prophet_ ,” Harry hissed after their starters had been cleared. Draco resisted the urge to turn in his chair to get a better look. He’d been raised well enough to know the art of looking at someone without making it obvious. Besides, he was already well aware of that particular gossip-monger—he’d caught her tailing him on more than one occasion when he used to go out.

“I take it she’s watching us closely,” he replied, his lip curling up in disgust. Just because they were here to be spotted, it didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.

“Yeah. She showed up about ten minutes ago so someone must have tipped her off.” Harry scowled at her over Draco’s shoulder and he bit back an exasperated sigh.

“If you don’t stop staring at her like that, _you’re_ going to tip her off.” He would have thought Harry was used to being stared at by now—not to mention, the date night had been his idea to get them in the papers. He really was confusing sometimes.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Harry frowned down at the tablecloth, brushing off a few stray crumbs. “We need to do something,” he stated, meeting Draco’s eyes with a determined gaze.

“What do you—Oh, you mean…something more than hand-holding?” Draco’s heart fluttered, though whether through anxiety or excitement, he wasn’t sure.

“Yep. I—” Harry didn’t get to finish his thought. His eyes darted to the side and Draco turned to see the waiter approaching with a trolley that must contain their mains. They sat silently while the waiter set dish after dish on their table, carefully clearing the trolley of its contents. 

At Draco’s confused glare, Harry shrugged. “Sorry. I guess I got a bit carried away ordering. Again. It’s all so good though—make sure you try a bit of everything!”

———

Draco’s lips were on fire, he was sure of it. Harry was grinning at him across the table, wiping the tears from his eyes—he’d conveniently _forgotten_ to tell Draco that Thai food could be quite spicy, and then found it hilarious when Draco almost choked on a mouthful of what he’d thought was simply minced beef, but which turned out to be laced with enough chillies to knock a man out.

“Your face!” Harry spluttered. 

Draco scowled and took a large sip of wine. It pained him to gulp down such a good vintage with so little thought, but mouth, and insides, were on fire. “I’m glad my pain causes you so much joy,” he drawled.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I honestly had no idea you’d never eaten Thai before. I tried to warn you it was a bit hot…”

“I thought you meant the temperature!” Draco was trying very hard not to lose his temper, but Harry always been able to push his buttons. If it wasn’t for the fact that that nosey witch from the Prophet was watching their every move, he might have stormed out rather than face further humiliation at Harry’s hands. He settled for dabbing at his face with his napkin—the last thing he wanted was to appear in the Prophet looking like a sweaty, red-faced mess. It was bad enough that they would be in the Prophet at all, but he wasn’t naive enough to think they’d settle for a written account of his and Harry’s first public _date_. With any luck they’d get a decent picture to replace that awful mugshot they seemed so fond of—even sweaty and red-faced was preferable to that.

“Hey, I really am sorry.” Harry leant across the table and gently took the napkin from Draco’s hand. Draco was about to protest when Harry drew his wand and cast small, localised cooling charm. He was furious with himself for not thinking of doing that himself. “Okay?” Harry asked. 

Draco bristled at his concern since it was Harry’s fault he was in that state in the first place. “Thank you,” he muttered. “If you’ll excuse me.” He stood up, deciding he needed a break from those green eyes and the slobbering gaze of the press and other patrons, but Harry grabbed his arm as he edged past the table, preventing his escape.

“I’ll miss you,” he said, his eyes darting significantly towards the table where Draco knew the reporters were sat documenting their every move. He tugged gently on Draco’s arm, so he ducked down to bring their heads closer, assuming that Harry wanted to whisper something to him. “I’m going to kiss you. Please don’t hex me.” Harry hissed, and then pressed his lips to Draco’s.

Draco was too shocked to respond. He'd still been processing Harry's words when all of a sudden Harry was on him. It was just a brief, closed-lipped kiss, no more than he'd done at the party, and it could only have lasted a few seconds, but Draco didn't think anyone in that dining room breathed for its duration. A wolf-whistle from somewhere in the room cut through the atmosphere and Draco pulled away from Harry, squaring his shoulders as he smoothed down his robes. He cleared his throat to check he was still capable of making sound. “Don't worry, darling. I shan't be gone long. I'm sure you'll cope in my absence.”

He felt the eyes of every last person in the dining room watching as he walked to the toilets, but most of all he felt Harry’s gaze burning into his back.

———

They Apparated straight back to Grimmauld Place after dessert. Harry had suggested going for a drink afterwards, but Draco felt his bruised heart had taken enough battering for one night and he rather wanted to crawl into his bed and hide until the inevitable fuss from the Prophet died down. Before he could dash upstairs to grab Scorpius though, a voice startled him.

“Good night, boys?”

Draco spun around and spotted Ginny, casually leaning against in the doorway, a glass of wine dangling lazily from her fingers. He could see the TV on in the corner of the living room behind her, showing a programme that seemed to involve nothing but shouting and canned laughter.

“Yeah, good. I think?” Harry answered, coming to stand beside Draco after hanging his coat up.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to read all about it in the Prophet tomorrow,” Draco muttered.

“Yeah? Do you think you got spotted then?”

“I _know_ we got spotted. Cheverton was a couple of tables over.” Harry said.

Ginny smirked knowingly. “Oooh, I hope you put on a good show.” 

“Where are the boys?” Draco asked, ignoring Ginny’s comment. “Scorpius wasn’t any trouble was he?”

“They’re both asleep in Al’s room. He was perfect. No trouble at all.” Ginny drained her glass and sent it down the stairs to the kitchen where Draco heard it clatter onto the counter. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it. I left James with Mum and she has Teddy too, so I want to check they’ve not torn the house apart.”

Draco muttered a halfhearted goodbye and went to go and check on Scorpius, leaving Harry and Ginny in the hallway. It wasn’t that he doubted Ginny’s abilities as a parent, but he needed to check with his own eyes that Scorpius was okay. As he climbed the staircase, he turned and saw Ginny and Harry standing very close together. She spoke quietly into his ear before ruffling his hair fondly and Draco quickly turned away, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He shouldn’t be surprised at their closeness—they were married for several years, and he knew the split had been amicable, but it still wasn’t fun to watch.

Harry was alone in the living room when Draco came downstairs, satisfied that Scorpius had come to no harm under Ginny’s care.

“They okay?” Harry asked as Draco sat heavily down at the other end of the sofa. It had been a long time since he’d been out for the evening and he was exhausted, as well as feeling very full and slightly fuzzy around the edges from the wine.

“Yes, sleeping soundly. Albus is wrapped around Scorpius’ stuffed kneazle, and Scorpius has Albus’ stuffed hippogriff hugged to his chest. It’s really rather sweet.”

“Aww. I’m so pleased Al and Scorp get on. They’re going to have so much fun at school together.”

“If Scorpius gets in.”

“Come on, he’s in for sure. No matter what she says, Ms Pole can’t prove we’re not together, especially not once the _Prophet_ release those pics of us leaving Chiang Mai tonight.”

Draco's face flamed at the memory. “Oh, Merlin. Was it too much? It was too much, I know it.”

“No, it was perfect! And that bum squeeze was a brilliant finish. I mean, no one can say we were there _as friends_ after that little display. I never had you pegged as someone who liked to be bitten,” Harry teased.

“I was in the moment! Pansy will never let me if down if _that_ picture comes to light. Oh fuck. What if my parents see it!?”

"Well, at least it'll give us something to talk about over breakfast when we visit them.” Harry chuckled, and Draco hit him lightly on the shoulder.

“You don’t actually have to come,” Draco added soberly. 

“I know, but…I was thinking about it, and…I kind of want to? I mean, I’m not keen on seeing your dad—”

“Who is?” Draco muttered under his breath.

“—but your mum saved my life, so I guess she can’t be all bad.” 

Draco shoved him playfully and Harry laughed, shoving him back, and then they quietened down, attention drawn by the game show Ginny had been watching on the TV. 

“Um, do you want a drink or something? It’s not that late yet,” Harry said, breaking the silence that had descended between them.

“I…I don’t know. I should probably get Scorpius home.”

“Stay.”

Draco whipped his head around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Stay. Scorp’s already asleep upstairs, I’ve got loads of spare beds, so, stay…please?”

He supposed it made sense, and it wasn’t really a big deal. Friends stayed at friends’ houses all the time. Blaise and Theo had both stayed at the Manor more times that Draco could count. But this was Harry’s house…

Harry fidgeted on the sofa, tucking a leg beneath him, then grabbing a cushion and running his fingers along the multi-coloured tassels which lined its edges. “No pressure. Just. It seems easier than waking Scorp up, although maybe he’s easier to settle than Al, so…you know. Do what’s best for you. You’re more than welcome to stay though. I’d like you to stay,” he finished quietly, finally looking up from his lap.

"Okay, sure," Draco agreed before he could overthink it too much. "We'll stay. If it's not too much trouble. And yes, I'll have an Ogden's, if you've got any."

Harry’s face lit up, his smile instantly turning Draco’s insides to mush. “No, no trouble at all!” He eagerly jumped up from the sofa. “I’ll just grab a drink and make sure a spare room is set up.” 

Left alone for what felt like the first time in a long while, Draco leant forward, his elbows on his knees, and hid his face in his hands. Yeah, this wasn’t a big deal at all.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco woke up groggy and disoriented. Everything felt wrong. The pillows weren’t the right height, the duvet was too thick, and even with his eyes closed, he could tell the lighting was wrong. But most disconcerting was the smell. Everything smelled…different. Familiar, but different. He couldn’t place where he knew it from, but it made him want to burrow his face into the pillows and drown in the scent. It made him feel safe and happy, and sent his mind flying back to fantasies of entwined bodies and warm kisses and firm touches, and…he sat bolt upright as everything came flooding back. He was in Harry’s house. That smell was _Harry_. He groaned and flung the duvet off him, only to be confronted by the sight of the pyjamas Harry had leant him. They were Gryffindor ones, of course, complete with a prowling lion on the breast pocket, and had he not had that last glass of Ogden’s, he may have protested more vehemently, but he’d been tired and drunk and would have slept in a lacy nightie at that point.

He lay in bed for a touch longer, listening out for signs of movement, but the house was quiet. Harry had given him the room adjacent to Albus’, so he imagined if the boys had woken up, they would have woken him up too. After checking the time and finding it already gone seven, Draco slipped out of bed, wincing slightly at the chill of the floor on his bare feet. He found a dressing gown hanging up behind the door—Gryffindor red again—and slid it over his shoulders before padding into the room next door to check on his son, only to find the room empty. He couldn’t help but smile fondly at the scene before him. Even if he hadn’t seen which bed Scorpius had been sleeping in, he’d have known just from seeing how they’d been left. Albus’ was a dishevelled tangle of blankets and soft toys, whereas Scorpius’ was neatly made with a stuffed hippogriff sitting proudly on the pillow. He suspected the boys had gone in search of food or toys, hopefully with Harry’s supervision, so he decided to shower and dress before heading down in search of them. He didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction of seeing him wearing Gryffindor colours at breakfast. 

Showered and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, minus his outer-most dress robes, Draco wandered down the stairs. He hadn’t had much chance to look round on his way up to bed but he was surprised to see how light and airy the hallway and stairwell was. He had very vague memories of Grimmauld Place from when he was a small boy, and his overwhelming impression of the house had been of a dark, oppressive building. He remembered getting lost once on his way back from the bathroom—he must only have been four or five at the time—and ending up in a room full of severed house-elf heads and stern looking portraits. He’d had nightmares for weeks.

As he descended through the house, he became aware of various sounds; the clatter of cutlery on plates, some muffled laughter, the scrape of a wooden chair across the hard floor. Eventually, he reached the kitchen and found Harry and the boys eating breakfast, all still in their pyjamas. He paused in the doorway to watch them, unwilling to disturb the domestic moment. The children only had half their attention on the food, the other half being on the battle they were enacting with a pair of toy dragons. Harry laughed along with them, throwing in the occasional encouraging comment and fielding their dragon-related questions. Draco noted, with only a slight degree of bitterness, that Harry’s pyjamas consisted of a much more respectable plain t-shirt and plaid trousers.

“I think you’ll find a Horntail would never present his flank like that to a Ridgeback. They’re surprisingly cunning,” Draco said as he leant against the door frame.

All three looked up at the sound of his voice. Harry grinned and offered a small wave as the boys stopped their game to greet him, Scorpius jumping up from the table to get a hug before scurrying back to his seat.

“Hey—where’re the pyjamas?” Harry pouted. “I left them out especially.”

“You don’t say,” Draco answered, folding his arms across his chest and glaring imperiously down at Harry. It was hard to maintain with him pouting like that, though. When he felt the corners of his lips start to quiver into a smile, he swiftly walked over to the pot on the side and fixed himself a coffee so Harry wouldn’t see his face.

“I thought red and gold might suit you,” Harry said innocently.

“I’m sure you did.” He sat down in the free chair beside Harry. “Now, make yourself useful and pass the Weetos.”

Harry smirked and slid the box along the table to him, then grabbed his wand and levitated the milk from the counter.

“Head okay?”

“Yes, of course. _You_ may struggle to handle your liquor, but I have no such problem.”

“Well, there are some hangover potions in the cabinet above the sink in your bathroom. If you need any.” Draco smiled and nodded his thanks. He decided not to tell Harry that he’d already found and ingested the contents of one of those bottles.

A sudden gust of wind howled down the chimney and rattled the windows, battering the glass with a blast of icy rain. Draco glanced out of the window and shivered at the sight of the slate grey clouds, very glad that he could Floo home without having to set foot outside. He was about to turn his attention back to his rapidly deteriorating Weetos when he noticed a fuzzy blob on the horizon, barely visible in the gloom. He squinted, trying to work out what he was seeing when he realised it was getting larger.

“Post!” Harry yelled, his voice full of excitement.

“And you’re excited because…?” Draco had long since stopped getting excited about the post owl turning up; it was always either something from his parents, or some hate mail that had managed to slip through his wards.

Harry glanced over at the boys, and seeing them occupied, said, “I don’t know if you remember, it was a long time ago after all, but last night, we went out on a date with the aim of getting snapped, thus having our loving relationship confirmed by the wizarding media.”

“Okay, no need to be a git about it,” he grumbled, taking a sip of his coffee.

A wet flumpf followed by a very insistent _tap tap tap_ signalled the arrival of one very soggy post owl. Harry waved the window open with his wand and the owl slipped gratefully into the kitchen. It immediately flew straight for the table, landing wetly beside Draco. The boys squealed with delight when the owl fluffed its feathers, then stretched out its wings, shaking off the loose water. Draco scrambled to move his breakfast and coffee out of reach of stray droplets.

"Aww, you poor little guy," Harry cooed, retrieving a very damp package from the owl. It hooted mournfully and stole a piece of toast from Draco's plate. "Here, have an owl treat instead. You don't want a ratty bit of toast." He summoned over a bowl of owl treats and swapped the toast out for a treat, dropping the piece of toast back on Draco's plate. 

“Excuse me!?” Draco spluttered.

“Feel free to dry off by the Aga, little fella,” Harry said to the owl, ignoring Draco’s protests.

Draco glared at the owl, before looking back at the table. Harry had already ripped open the thin package and was looking down at the covers of six different publications he’d spread over the table, all but one of which was sporting a blurry picture of Harry and Draco from inside the restaurant.

That was odd—Draco hadn’t noticed anyone taking their picture when they were inside. But then as he watched the image replay on a loop he realised he might have been a little distracted. The picture showed the moment when Harry had pulled Draco down into that brief kiss when he was on his way to the bathroom. 

“What’s that?” asked Scorpius, craning his neck to get a better look.

Harry shot Draco a panicked look. “Nothing!” he shrieked, gathering up the papers before the boys could investigate further. “Uh, why don’t you boys go and play for a bit, yeah?” They both nodded eagerly and dashed out of the room. Draco waited until he heard their footsteps clattering up the second set of stairs before speaking.

“Well, I think we can declare last night a success,” he said blandly.

Harry laughed nervously and put the papers back down on the table. He picked up the one on the top and flicked through, his cheeks steadily darkening. Draco just watched—he couldn’t bring himself to read anything they’d written about him. He decided to wait for the abridged version from Harry.

“I don’t suppose they have anything interesting to say? Any more awful pictures?” Draco asked tentatively.

"Er, nothing worth repeating. Apparently, I'm doing the wizarding world a great disservice with my choice of… _partner_ but that's not exactly unexpected. I guess the real speculation pieces will come out over the next week or so. You should probably keep Scorpius away from wizarding areas for the time being." He smiled apologetically.

Draco levelled a glare at him. “Because we spend so much time in Diagon? If it wasn’t for my work at the Ministry, I’d probably not bother with the wizarding population at all. Not the British contingent, at least.”

“Fine. Just be careful, okay.”

Was Harry truly worried about him or was this part of the act? “Yes, I’ll be careful. When am I not? Slytherin, remember. Self-preservation is my ‘thing’.”

Harry chuckled and Draco felt relieved he was able to lighten the mood a little. He was still nervous about what the papers had said. Harry was being quite cagey about it, and his level of concern seemed greater than would be necessary if the articles were as he said. “It’ll blow over soon, I’m sure. They’ll tire of us in no time once they realise we’re dull as dishwater,” Draco said with more confidence than he felt.

Harry snorted. “Hey, speak for yourself! But…yeah. I’m sure it’ll blow over. Soonish. Probably best we keep up the act a while longer, though, yeah? Not that I think you and Scorp are in any danger, but if people think we’re together, they’re less likely to do anything…troubling.”

"Even though us being together is what they're pissed off about," Draco said pointedly.

Harry winced and fiddled with his coffee mug.

“Look,” Draco sighed, “I don’t blame you for this. Yes, it was your idea, but I went along with it. I’d do anything for Scorpius.”

“Even get yourself caught up in my mess?”

“Evidently so.”

The foul weather continued through the morning, wind and rain continuing their assault on the house, but Draco felt warm and safe sat around the kitchen table, enjoying a leisurely breakfast with Harry, while the boys played upstairs. Even with the press after him once again, stirring up hate and reminding everyone he didn’t deserve to be happy, he wasn’t sure he’d change anything.

———

They established an easy routine that continued over the next few weeks. When with the kids, they spent time together in Muggle areas to avoid the press, but they always made sure to squeeze in a ‘date’ or two somewhere wizarding and high-profile so they could advertise their relationship. It became so easy, that Draco even started to look forward to the dates, rather than see them as a source of intense anxiety. Once he was able to block out the cameras and the nosey members of the public, the dates were actually enjoyable; Harry was so easy to talk to, and even his slightly weird taste in restaurants was oddly endearing. He seemed to enjoy introducing Draco to new places and new flavours, and Draco enjoyed letting him. 

The one thorn in his side was the constant reminders that he needed to organise a visit to his parents. He continued to fob his mother off with excuses as to why they couldn't come to visit, but with each appearance they made in the _Prophet_ , her letters became more and more insistent. He knew he'd have to give in to her request eventually—unless he managed to put her off until he and Harry ‘split up'—but he was determined not to fold too easily. It didn't matter that Harry had said he was okay with the visit, Draco didn't want to put him in a situation where he'd have to make nice with his parents unless absolutely necessary.

It was only a few weeks after his first date with Harry that his mother finally lost her patience with him. It had been such a good morning too. Scorpius had got dressed without complaint; the uniform list for Athelstan’s had arrived, providing further confirmation that Scorpius was accepted at the school; Blippy had baked his favourite pastries. But then, as Draco was tidying up the breakfast things before work, his mother’s owl had appeared at his window, and he had just _known_ it wasn’t going to be good news.

"Hey, have you ever tried wasabi peas?" Harry asked, sauntering into Draco's cubicle shortly after ten that morning. The weather had started to warm up, so for some reason, Harry thought this gave him an excuse to wear shorts in the office. It wouldn't normally be a problem since their regulation Auror robes covered a multitude of fashion sins, but Harry appeared to be averse to wearing the robes around the office, and if he _did_ wear them, he'd often just sling the outer robe over the top of whatever outfit he was wearing. Of course, no one said anything because he was Harry bloody Potter and could get away with whatever the fuck he liked. He could have turned up to work in nothing but a thong with the Dark Lord's face on it and people would probably just politely avert their eyes. 

Draco’s issue wasn’t with the shorts, as such, but it was most distracting trying to carry on a conversation with him when his shapely calves kept trying to steal his attention. He wanted to run his tongue along his leg, taste him, feel the muscles twitch, feel the coarse hair tickle his lips. It should be illegal to have legs that looked that edible.

“Did you hear me? Earth to Draco!” Draco blinked and looked up to find Harry waving his hand in his face. “You want some?”

He automatically reached out and took a handful from the proffered bag without stopping to consider what it might be. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes. He didn’t want to know if he’d been caught staring at those legs. He barely glanced at the snack in his hand—what had Harry said? Peas?—and without a second thought, tossed the handful into his mouth.

“Draco, wait! I—”

Draco’s eyes widened as the heat hit him. What the fuck had he just put in his mouth? He scrabbled for the bin. “Merlin’s fucking _BALLS!_ ” he spluttered as he spat the part-chewed peas out. 

“Here.” Harry passed him a bottle of chocolate milkshake he just happened to have on his person. “I tried to warn you…” he said sheepishly.

“You clearly didn’t do an adequate job,” Draco muttered, taking a long swig of the bottle. The back of his nose was still prickling uncomfortably and a stray tear tracked down his cheek. “You’re a prick, you know that right? Who offers a snack like that to someone when they’re clearly distracted?” he said, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief.

Harry sniggered, completely unrepentant and Draco forgave him instantly, of course—he couldn’t hate a man who walked around with chocolate milkshake.

“So, what’s got you distracted? Nothing bad I hope?” Harry accepted the bottle of milkshake when Draco handed it back and took a swig himself.

“No, nothing bad…well. Not awful, anyway. Mother owled again. She said that if we don't visit by the end of the month that she and Father will come to the Manor. I'm afraid she's rather keen to meet you officially.”

“So, what are you waiting for? I already told you it’s okay.”

“Yes, but really? You’re sure? Because I completely understand if you would rather do literally anything else.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. I mean it!” Harry insisted when Draco opened his mouth to protest further. “Now stop worrying. I’ll go to Robards this afternoon if you like and get the time booked off. Just tell me when and for how long.”

Draco nodded and puffed out his cheeks. He should feel relieved, but all he felt was dread.

———

Everything was going smoothly and for once there were no obstacles, which was an endless source of annoyance to Draco. For starters, it was surprisingly easy to get time off for the trip. Draco had hoped that Robards would put his foot down and demand that Harry, at least, not take any holiday for the time being. All Harry had to do, though, was ask and Robards bent over backwards to accommodate his request, and because _officially_ they were together, Draco was given the time off too. Then, he had hoped that they would be denied an international Portkey—the Ministry usually made Draco jump through numerous hoops before allowing him to even _apply_ for an international Portkey—but no such luck. Harry had dashed off a quick owl to the Portkey office one lunchtime and they’d practically fallen over themselves to help him. They would probably have let him have a Portkey there and then, completely bypassing the one week notice period people were supposed to provide before international travel. Finally, his last hope was that Harry wouldn’t be able to find anyone to watch his children, especially since it was such short notice, but Ginny had readily agreed despite already having plans with Blaise.

Despite his protestations otherwise, Harry clearly wasn’t looking forward to the trip. He grew increasingly more tense and short tempered the closer the trip drew, so much so that Draco started trying to avoid him—even cancelling their _date_ that week feigning a headache. He didn’t blame Harry for his reluctance though; it wasn’t as if Draco was looking forward to it either. A week in his parents’ villa in southern Italy with Harry in tow sounded like a recipe for disaster. His mother had assured him that his father would be on his best behaviour, but Lucius could be wild and unpredictable with his moods, even more so than when Draco had been growing up, and having Harry Potter in his home probably wouldn’t help with that.

It wasn’t just the thought of having to mediate between Harry and his parents that had Draco feeling nervous about their upcoming holiday. He was dreading having to lie to his mother’s face about his relationship with Harry. He was certain she would see straight through him, and then what? He trusted his mother not to say anything, but what if his father found out? And could either of them be trusted not to say anything to Scorpius? There were just far too many ways he could see the trip going horrendously wrong and he wished more than anything for it to be over.

When the day of their departure finally arrived, Draco was relieved more than anything else. He just wanted things with Harry to get back to normal…or as normal as they had been before the hastily organised visit, anyway. Harry was already at the Portkey Office when Draco and Scorpius arrived, standing sullenly to one side of the reception desk. Scorpius bounded over like an excited puppy as soon as he spotted him, pulling out of Draco’s reach before he could grab him back. Harry brightened the second he saw them both, opening his arms and gathering Scorpius up in an enthusiastic hug which alleviated a lot of the stress Draco had been carrying around that morning.

The International Departures lounge of the Portkey Office was much quieter than Draco had been expecting. He felt agitated, as if his whole body was vibrating with the need to run or shout or do something, _anything_ , but instead, he stood rigidly by the wall, hands clasped behind his back to stop the trembling, as he waited for their Portkey to be called. Harry was a short distance away with Scorpius, looking at a huge map of the world that covered one wall and Draco could hear his son excitedly chattering away about all the places he was going to visit and telling Harry all about New York, where his mother lived. It was unfair how comfortable Harry looked— _he_ should be the one crawling up the walls with anxiety—he looked like he was off on a relaxing family holiday, and Draco wondered, bitterly, what had brought on his change of heart. 

“Hey, you okay?” Harry asked, sidling over to Draco once Scorpius was occupied with a colouring book.

“Yes. Fucking brilliant,” he snapped. “Eager to get it over with now.”

Harry raised his eyebrows but wasn’t put off by Draco’s tone. “You don’t like travelling by Portkey?”

“I don’t like visiting my parents. I’m not going to be happy until we’re back on British soil,” he grumbled. “I don’t see how you can be so bloody happy about this all of a sudden.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m absolutely bricking it, but look at Scorpius; he’s so excited. I’m not going to ruin his trip to see his grandparents. Also…I, um, may have added a few drops of _Calming Draft_ to my tea this morning.”

Before Draco could be annoyed he hadn’t thought it himself, a portly wizard with tufts of white hair bordering the shiny dome of his head called them over. “Potter, party of three.” His tone was the bored drawl of a man who’d been stuck in the same boring job for far too long. He held the Portkey out—a dirty spatula by the looks of it—and Harry took it with a gracious smile that the sullen man definitely didn’t earn. He passed his eyes over their small group, his gaze lingering on Draco. “Departure time in fifteen seconds. Please ensure you are in contact with the Portkey or you’ll be left behind. You are set to return at this time five days from now whether you are ready or not.”

"Thank you. Hold tight," Harry instructed as he held the spatula out. Draco shuddered at the thought of having touch the dirty end of the implement but was resigned to do so anyway when Harry flipped it around, offering the slightly cleaner handle to Draco. 

He shot Harry a relieved smile and gripped the spatula with one hand, and Scorpius’ hand with the other.

“Five seconds,” drawled the bored man.

Draco closed his eyes and counted down in his head until he felt the familiar yet uncomfortable sensation of his insides being dragged out through his navel. 

Seconds later, they arrived abruptly in the Portkey office in Naples and Draco stumbled forward a couple of steps before Harry stopped him with a firm, steady hand on his shoulder. He smiled tightly in thanks, then fussed over Scorpius so he had an excuse to looks away from Harry’s piercing stare. 

The Naples Portkey Office was little more than a rented office in a shared building. Luckily there was enough of a community in the south to warrant an outpost of the Italian ministry in Naples or it would have been a nightmare journey to get from Rome to his parent's villa in the south. Arrivals and departures areas were on opposite sides of the room, cordoned off with faded red rope strung between brass stands. There were mosaics and threadbare tapestries on the walls, detailing mythological scenes, and the space had clearly been decorated to a high standard at some point, maybe fifty years ago, but it was all looking a little shabby now. Draco found the lack of change comforting though—it took him back to happier times when he'd been excited to be spending summers at the villa with his parents. 

Draco was interrupted in his reminiscing by a woman brusquely herding them out of the Arrivals area. Harry looked slightly alarmed but he followed Draco’s lead. As soon as they stepped outside of the Portkey office and into a small reception area from where they could Apparate, the temperature was noticeably warmer. It was only May, so it wasn’t too hot, but it was much different from the cool grey day they’d left behind in the UK. Draco handed the spatula to the man at the desk, then loosened his tie and undid his top button—his only concession to the heat.

“Are you ready?” he asked

Harry didn’t immediately answer, and Draco thought for a minute he was going to turn and demand the next Portkey out of there, but then he nodded, a determined glint in his eye. A ripple of excitement washed through Draco as the reality of coming to Italy with Harry sunk in. They had four full days together; five whole nights. If only his younger self could see him now.

When they Apparated into the courtyard of his parents’ villa, Draco felt his chest constrict. It was a rather modest building compared with the Manor, but there was no denying the unrestrained wealth that surrounded it. It rose up out of a neatly manicured garden, stone walls partially hidden by a tangle of wisteria already heavy with purple flowers. Large windows opened onto a terracotta-tiled veranda that hugged the base of the building, providing an outside entertaining area. It was the veranda where Draco could see the distinctive silver hair of his father—he could feel his father’s gaze on him even from this distance—but he made no move to greet his guests.

A movement off to the side tore his attention away from his father and he turned to see his mother approaching from the rose garden. Their elderly house-elf trotted after her carrying a basket of plant cuttings. She smiled as Draco caught her eye, holding out her arms as she approached. He felt Harry stiffen beside him and moved to take his hand in a show of support but stopped himself short as he didn’t know if it would be welcome. Scorpius’ shriek of glee when he spotted his grandmother went some way to diffusing the tension, though. He tore across the gravel and joyfully threw himself into Narcissa’s open arms. It warmed Draco to see his mother and Scorpius’ easy affection for each other; he always managed to forget how much Scorpius loved his grandmother when his brain was overwhelmed with the stress of the visit. It almost made him regret not visiting more regularly.

He glanced at Harry and was struck with a surge of irritation at the look of obvious surprise plastered across his face.

“Despite what you might think, she’s not a monster,” he hissed, quietly enough that Scorpius and his mother couldn’t hear.

Harry had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m not surprised, I’m…well. Okay, yeah. I guess I’m a bit surprised. The last time I saw Narcissa was at the trial. It’s… _different_ seeing her like this, that’s all. She looks well.”

“The Mediterranean way of life agrees with her.” Draco shrugged, feeling slightly appeased.

Before Draco could elaborate further on her finer qualities, Narcissa approached. Scorpius trailed behind her, chatting to Jorry. “Draco! How lovely to see you looking so well,” she said, cupping his face in her soft, cool hands. She pulled him down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before releasing him and turning to Harry. Draco tried not to be obvious in his nervousness. “And Mr Potter—the man who’s won my Draco’s heart—it’s a pleasure to properly make your acquaintance, at long last.” She looked pointedly at Draco, and he shrank back slightly.

Draco shot a worried glance at the Scorpius—he’d need to remind his mother that Scorpius was unaware of the _relationship_ —but the boy was still engrossed in a rather one-sided conversation with Jorry so wasn’t paying them any attention.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Narcissa. Please call me Harry—we’re well beyond formalities by this point.”

“Of course, Harry. You are to be my son-in-law, after all. Please, come and join us on the veranda for afternoon tea.” She held out her arm and Draco stepped forward to thread it through his own. Lucius was yet to acknowledge their presence, so Draco swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and focused on his breathing as they approached.

“Lucius, your son and Harry Potter are here with Scorpius,” Narcissa announced.

“I’m aware,” Lucius drawled without looking up from the paper he was reading. Even in the Mediterranean climate, he dressed formally, with his robes done up to his neck.

Narcissa smiled apologetically and indicated that they should sit down, before summoning Jorry and requesting tea. It was an intensely uncomfortable tea, but Draco reminded himself that it could have been a whole lot worse. At least his father had chosen to show his displeasure by remaining silent, with only an occasional grumble or snort when someone said something that was particularly disagreeable to him. He expected his mother had had a lot to do with that, and made a note to thank her at the earliest opportunity. 

The afternoon passed delightfully uneventfully. Lucius disappeared into his study as soon as Narcissa dismissed him from tea, and didn’t emerge until dinner, where he kept up his silent disapproval. Draco had long ago come to terms with the fact that he’d never be the man his father had hoped he’d be so it didn’t bother him too much. He hated that Scorpius was so wary around his grandfather though, and it was more than a little embarrassing having Harry witness how dysfunctional his family was. 

They made their excuses and retired to bed shortly after dinner, claiming tiredness from the travelling, but in reality, Draco just needed to get away from his parents. He could deal with his father’s disappointment and disapproval, but his mother’s clear delight at his and Harry’s engagement left him with a constant indigestion-like feeling burning in his gut. As soon as Scorpius was in bed, all she wanted to talk about was the wedding—venues, dates, guest lists, entertainment—and it was all he could do to stop himself from standing up and screaming _IT’S NOT REAL! THE ENGAGEMENT IS A LIE_. 

Harry trailed after him up the large, central, curving staircase, his footsteps heavy, and Draco wondered how much he was regretting his decision to help him out. They’d been given the room that Draco always stayed in. It was on the first floor and with a large balcony that offered expansive views across the countryside to the coast. He loved this room—it was one of the few things he enjoyed about visits to his parents. There was nothing quite like sitting on the balcony on a balmy evening with nothing but the stars, the chirrup of crickets, and the gentle murmur of the sea for company. He pushed the door open, and stepped inside, letting out a relieved sigh as he felt the tension finally slip from his shoulders. He couldn’t wait to flop down onto the soft, white sheets, but first things first; a shower.

The door clicked shut and a throat cleared behind him. Draco flicked his eyes open. He’d forgotten about Harry. How could he have forgotten about Harry?

“Wow, nice place,” Harry said with an appreciative whistle.

Draco hoped his heartbeat wasn’t audible because it felt an awful lot like it was about to break out of his chest. He was sharing a room with Harry Potter. Sharing a _bed_ with Harry Potter. There was no way this could end well. What if he accidentally snuggled him during the night? Or accidentally prodded him in the back with an inconvenient morning erection? 

“Oh, Merlin. I…I’m sorry. I didn’t think. We can transfigure the chaise or the dressing table, or—” Draco looked wildly about the room, hoping a solution would magically reveal itself.

“What are you on about?”

“The bed—there’s only one. I didn’t think. I don’t know why I didn’t think…”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Harry stepped towards him and brushed a hand over his shoulder. “You’ve had a lot to deal with today and look at it—it’s fucking huge. I think we’ll both fit.”

Draco paled. “You want to sleep with me?” he blurted, and then choked as he realised what he’d just said. “No! I mean, in the bed, with me? You want to share? At the same time?”

Harry’s amused look only compounded Draco’s mortification. “It’s honestly not a big deal for me, but if it makes you uncomfortable, then I guess we can transfigure another bed.”

Draco stared at Harry for a moment, trying to determine his motives. Was he only fine with it because he had absolutely zero romantic feelings toward Draco? Would that mean that his own feelings would be obvious if he made a fuss about it? “Are you sure…? I just thought maybe you wouldn’t want to—”

“You’ve not got any weird contagious diseases I’m not aware of, have you?”

“No?”

“It’ll be fine then! Ron and I used to share a bed all the time, so…”

"Oh, right, yes." He didn't like the reminder that they were just friends. "Um, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to shower, so…er…make yourself comfortable." Draco darted into the en-suite and slammed the door behind him, ignoring Harry's bewildered expression.

He leant back against the bathroom door. The wood felt cool and smooth against his hands, and he ran his fingers back and forth along the grain while he waited for his heart to slow down to a more normal pace. What was he going to do? He wished he’d never let things get this far, but being with Harry was like a drug. He just wanted to be around him, to be his friend, to have that bright smile focused on him only. Now that he’d had a taste of what things with Harry could really be like, his pathetic crush had only grown bigger and more consuming. How was he supposed to spend the night—no, several nights—with him in the same bed?

With his head full of despairing thoughts about his lack of a love life, Draco hurried through his nightly routine. He even kept the shower cool to discourage himself from lingering. The sooner he got into bed and went to sleep, the sooner this nightmare would be over. It was only as he was drying himself off after his shower that he realised he had no pyjamas—Jorry had probably assumed he would be changing in the bedroom with his husband-to-be rather than hiding away in the bathroom like the coward he was.

He wrapped a towel securely around his waist and hesitantly opened the door…

“I didn’t know you liked these,” Harry said, as soon as Draco stepped into the room. He was holding Draco’s current read, turning it over in his hands. It was Muggle crime thriller Draco had picked up a few weeks earlier because the blurb had intrigued him—he couldn’t recall the author though.

“Books? I’m surprised you can even recognise one,” he sneered, causing Harry to look up at him in surprise, but then he immediately shifted his gaze back to the tatty paperback in his hand, his cheeks pink. 

“Ha bloody ha. You know, those ‘dumb Gryffindor’ jokes don’t work as well when you remember that Hermione is also a Gryffindor,” he grumbled without looking up.

“She’s the exception that proves the rule. You know that.” Draco scanned the room for his pyjamas and spotted them folded neatly on the pillow beside Harry.

“So, are you done in there?” Harry asked as Draco moved to grab his pyjamas. “Only, I’m bursting for a piss.”

Draco grimaced, but nodded and stepped out of Harry's way, clutching the pyjamas to his chest in one hand, his towel with the other. He thought he saw Harry's gaze flick down his body but quickly dismissed the idea. No need to make the situation any more awkward by imagining things like that. 

As soon as the bathroom door swung shut behind Harry, Draco threw on his pyjamas and snuggled down between the clean sheet. He could hear Harry clattering about in the bathroom; the toilet flushing, the taps running, the creak of the loose floorboard in front of the door, the squeak of the handle turning… Draco squeezed his eyes shut and turned his back on the door, pretending to be asleep. He listened closely as Harry padded softly across the floor, footsteps changing as he moved from the wooden floor to the short-weave rug beside the bed. There was a pause and Draco held his breath when he heard the whisper of fabric falling to the floor—was Harry _naked?_ It took everything he had not to turn around to sneak a look, and if he could have gotten away with it without getting caught then he definitely would have peeked. He felt the bed dip and the bed springs protested as Harry climbed in. Draco clamped down hard on the duvet to stop it from shifting off his shoulders as Harry fidgeted and arranged himself in the bed. Then…nothing. Draco relaxed his body from the tight coil he'd held it in and concentrated on slowing his breathing into something more sleep-like, but his ears are pricked, listening out for any clue as to what Harry was doing.

“Draco? Are you still awake?” Draco froze. If he turned over now, Harry would know he’d been faking sleep…unless he acted like he’d just woken up. Could he do that? “Look, I don’t know if you’re really asleep or just pretending, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry your dad is such a massive twat. Your mum seems nice though. She clearly loves you a lot. And…I’m also sorry for the scars on your chest—I know it was me that did it, and…well. I’m sorry. If I had known…but that’s neither here nor there. I’m glad we’re friends now. Really glad. I think you’re pretty fucking amazing for putting up with what you do, and I just thought you should know. Even though you’re asleep.” He sighed and Draco held himself perfectly still, his heart pounding in his chest. “Anyway, maybe I’ll be brave enough to say it to your face one day. Ha. Well, goodnight.”

There was a rustle of fabric and squeak of springs as Harry resettled himself, and then a muttered _Nox_ plunged the room into darkness. Draco lay there listening as Harry’s breathing evened out and deepened, but sleep was a long time coming for him.

Harry was already up by the time Draco woke. He was surprised since he had assumed he’d be the earlier riser out of the two of them—not that he’d given it too much thought—but then he remembered how he'd spent most of the night awake turning Harry's words over and over in his head. He wasn't even sure what he'd heard anymore. The words had been replayed so often that he felt sure he must be recalling them incorrectly or putting his own twist on them. He definitely remembered him calling Lucius a twat, but did he really call Draco amazing? 

He rolled over and smothered a frustrated groan with a pillow. A pillow that smelled like Harry. No good would come from lounging in bed, he decided, tossing back the sheets and stumbling into the bathroom to make himself marginally more presentable.

He heard, rather than saw, Harry and Scorpius once he finally emerged from the bedroom. They were outside, taking breakfast on the veranda with his mother. They didn’t see him standing in the doorway, so he took a moment to watch them. Harry looked like he’d literally just rolled out of bed, with his hair even more unruly than normal, and his stubble thick and dark. He was wearing a worn, green t-shirt that he must have had since before he’d bulked out a bit because the way it clung to his upper arms and across his shoulders was positively sinful. Scorpius was giggling about something and stuffing fruit into his mouths, while Narcissa and Harry watched and laughed along. It made something inside Draco ache to see them acting like a…like a _real_ family, and he felt that now-familiar nausea settle in his stomach. Scorpius would be devastated if everything fell apart…or, more accurately, _when_ everything fell apart. Despite what Harry said last night, Draco knew there was no way things could continue between them like this. Harry would meet someone, or the school would discover the lie, or there just would be no need for them to continue it anymore, and then Harry would go back to his charmed life as everyone’s golden boy, and Draco would be left forcing himself to smile through a job he hated while struggling to provide a good example for Scorpius so he wouldn’t repeat his family’s mistakes.

His appetite was more or less gone, and he didn’t feel up to interacting with the ‘perfect family’ scene on the veranda, so he wandered down to the kitchen to grab a coffee and maybe snag an apple. He should have known Lucius would be lurking there. He’d probably been waiting to get Draco on his own.

“Father,” he greeted, deciding it would be foolish to pretend he wasn’t there, despite that being his first reaction.

Lucius carefully folded the paper he’d been reading, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Draco. I expected you to be out there with the rest of your _family_.” Despite the way Lucius spat the word, he couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in his chest at hearing it. “Don’t tell me you’ve tired of Potter already. What a terrible shame.”

“As much as you’d like that to be true, Harry and I are still very much in love.” It was definitely easier lying to his father than his mother, but even so, the words felt like ash in his mouth. He busied himself with putting water and coffee in the Moka pot and setting it on the stove so he wouldn’t have to meet Lucius’ gaze.

“I don’t know why you insist on doing everything the Muggle way,” Lucius muttered, tapping his fingers in a staccato rhythm on the folded paper.

“We’re not having that argument again father. Just say whatever it is about my fiancé that you need to get off your chest and then leave us in peace for the rest of our trip.”

“Of all the people, Draco.” He bowed his head slightly and pressed spidery fingers to his temples. “I should have seen it coming, I suppose. You’ve never acted rationally where that boy is concerned.”

“I hardly think you’re one to lecture me about acting rationally. And he’s not a boy anymore. Believe me, I’d know.” He wasn’t sure why he’d added that last bit, but the expression on his father’s face was more than worth the fleeting embarrassment he felt.

“I just don’t understand what was wrong with Scorpius’ mother. The least you could have done was make a go of it for your son’s sake.”

Draco spun around, his fists clenched against his thighs as he fought the urge to hex his father’s mouth shut permanently. He was so sick of this. Every single visit. “ _Make a go of it?_ ” he yelled. “Not only is she a lesbian, and therefore entirely uninterested in _anything_ I have to offer her, but I’m also gay, which you surely haven’t forgotten.”

Lucius stood and paced around the table, slapping the surface with his hand. His body was frail and his mind wasn’t as sharp as it had been, but he still managed to strike fear into Draco on occasion. It was like he could never truly forget being a small boy and completely cowed by his father’s every whim. “Plenty of homosexual men have wives, Draco. You act like you’re the first man to ever reject the pleasures of a woman!”

“And how many of those men are happy?” Draco spat. “No. This conversation is over. I love Harry and we’re going to get married, and if you can’t accept that, I’ll let you explain to mother why we refuse to bring Scorpius to visit.” He turned his back on his father and made to storm out of the room. He hated that the man could still get under his skin so much. He still loved him, in a way, because he was his father and because his mother was so insistent that he was a good man underneath it all, but Draco had long moved past the blind idolisation phase of their relationship. Being around his parents brought up so many conflicting feelings, and having Harry here as well seemed to have pushed his emotions even closer to the surface. 

He paused in the corridor outside the kitchen to take stock and formulate some kind of plan. He didn’t know what he was going to do, he just knew that he needed to get out of the house for a bit. Then he caught sight of Harry standing in the shadows just a few metres away and his stomach fell. 

"Um, your mum sent me to look for you and I, er, heard shouting, so, um…" Harry shifted awkwardly on his feet, his flip-flops sliding on the hard tile.

“How much did you hear?” Draco asked slowly, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. His chest was heaving from the argument and his skin was crawling with the need to flee. He saw Harry’s gaze slip down to his trembling hands and hastily stuffed them into his pockets.

“Nothing! Not really…I…I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity, Potter. I’m going for a walk. Tell Scorpius I’ll be back soon.”

“Wait! Draco—” Harry reached out but Draco stepped out of range.

“Please. I need to be alone.” He pushed past Harry without looking up.

He felt Harry's eyes on him until he rounded the corner, burning into his back. He fled through the front door and moved as fast as he could without breaking into a run. He had no idea where he was going—he just needed to get away. Guilt curdled in his stomach as he recalled the hurt look on Harry’s face, but he couldn’t have stayed. Everything felt too much—Harry’s whispered words when he’d thought Draco asleep, the perfect family scene over breakfast, his mother’s excitement, his father’s disappointment—when had everything become so difficult? The words he’d shouted at his father came rushing back to him— _‘I love Harry’_ —and with a sickening lurch, he realised that he hadn’t been lying about that. He _did_ love Harry—it was undeniable, indisputable, and it had been for years. How was he supposed to continue with the fake relationship now that he knew? It was torture, being so close to the one thing he wanted more than anything, yet be unable to touch him or be held by him when everything fell apart.

Before long, he found himself standing on the cliff top and stared across the bay to the open sea beyond. He wondered whether it would not be simpler to just take Scorpius and run away for good. No more working for a place where no one wanted him, no more trying to get his son into a school where he wasn’t welcome, and most importantly, no more Harry Potter.


	11. Chapter 11

When Draco strolled back up to the villa a couple of hours later, his thoughts were much more peaceful. He'd not gone far, just walked along the coastal path for a bit and let the sea air calm him down until the sun had burnt off most of the chill in the air. He loved it at this time of year when the area wasn't overrun with tourists and sun-seekers. The weather was warm without being too humid, and the footpaths were quiet except for the occasional dog-walker or hiker. His parents had owned the villa for as long as he could remember, and he'd spent more time here than he could ever quantify over his childhood. It was easy to forget the beauty of the place when it was tainted by the presence of his parents, but getting out by himself for a little while helped remind him of happier times.

His mother was tending the garden when he walked up the driveway, and she informed him that Harry had taken Scorpius to the nearby beach. She didn’t comment on his dramatic exit, but there was no way she hadn’t heard about it from Harry or Lucius. Draco wasn’t going to bring it up if she didn’t, though, so they did what they always did and pretended it hadn’t happened. He might have been mistaken, but her smile had seemed sad as he’d bid her goodbye. He knew she didn’t approve of his father’s opinions, but as long as she left them unchallenged, it didn’t mean much. He wasn’t worried about Scorpius and Harry, knowing they were at the beach together, so he took his time showering, then grabbed a late breakfast from the kitchen, making the most of the peace to read a chapter of his book while he ate.

The small cove nearest the villa was hidden from Muggles, so Draco knew he could have Apparated, but in his current mood, a walk felt preferable. He changed into a worn pair of cuffed jeans and slipped on a grey v-neck t-shirt. It was more casual than his usual attire, but he didn’t want any of his decent clothes to get ruined by the sand or salt.

The beach was deserted except for Harry and Scorpius, so he spotted them as soon as he descended the small path between the rocks. It wasn’t the easiest journey to make in canvas slip-ons, but he managed it without falling to his arse once—although there were a couple of close calls that he was glad no one was around to witness.

There was a blanket set out under a rainbow-coloured umbrella, but Harry and Scorpius were a bit farther down the beach digging in the sand. Harry’s back was to him so didn’t see him approach, but Scorpius saw him almost immediately. He leapt up from where he’d been piling sand in heaps around the edge of a large hole and tore across the beach towards Draco. 

Harry looked around in confusion but beamed when he saw Draco, smiling in the way that made his heart flutter. Draco scooped Scorpius up, hugging him against his side as he walked over to the sand… _hole?_ It couldn’t really be called a castle.

“Hi! You made it!” Harry said, dusting down his knees as he straightened up and Draco’s mouth instantly went dry at the sight of him in nothing but a pair of garish board shorts. He quickly turned his attention back to Scorpius, absently smoothing back his cowlick. 

“Yes, well Mother informed me you’d headed over here so I thought I’d come and see if it had changed much since my last visit.”

“Yeah? Scorpius is lucky to have this place so close to his grandparents. I take the boys to the beach by their uncle’s place sometimes, but it’s not really the same. I can’t believe it’s only May!”

“We don’t actually visit all that much. I like to keep him away from certain…unwelcome influences.”

Comprehension dawned on Harry’s face and he sobered, the smile dropping from his mouth. “Ah, sorry, I get it.” He fiddled with the drawstring on his shorts and Draco was forced to look away again to stop his eyes getting drawn to that location. “Um…About before…” Harry started. He looked nervous and Draco suspected he’d been a bit too naive in hoping that Harry hadn’t overheard too much, or that he’d be like his mother and ignore the unpleasantness until it went away. The one saving grace was that he could play it off as being a lie—as far as Harry knew, he’d just been keeping up appearances for Lucius’ sake. However, he didn’t want to be having whatever conversation this was in front of his son. He silenced Harry with a glare and set Scorpius back on the sand, encouraging him to keep playing in the sand. 

Harry scratched a hand across his chest, and Draco tried not to track the movement. It was _very_ distracting though. What right did Harry have looking so good in such a ridiculous pair of shorts? And why was he wearing them so low on his hips? It was obscene and left almost nothing to the imagination. Draco could practically see where the dark hair running down from his navel thickened as it neared his…

“So, yeah. About before—” Draco snapped his eyes back up to Harry’s face, his cheeks burning, but thankfully Harry was staring at where the Scorpius was digging a channel from his sand hole to the sea. “—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, and I swear I didn’t really hear anything, so I’m really sorry if I upset you…I just—”

“It’s fine,” Draco interjected before Harry could bring up any specifics. “It wasn’t you. I struggle to deal with my father’s opinions sometimes. He always knows exactly how to get my back up. We have exactly the same arguments every time I visit so it’s not a big deal.” _Please don’t make it a big deal_ he added silently.

“Yeah, but me being here isn’t helping. I mean, I got that much from what I heard…Thanks for defending my honour, by the way.” He chuckled shyly and flashed Draco a lopsided smile.

Draco briefly closed his eyes and tilted his head to the sky as he inhaled. Harry was actually doing this—he was forcing them to discuss it. “What you heard…It wasn’t real, okay? I can’t have my father knowing about…this…this _thing_ we’re doing. So whatever you heard, or think you heard, please, just forget about it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. You’re right. I never… I mean…This whole thing’s a sham. I know that.” He frowned and looked back over to Scorpius, who was now halfway to the shore. “Right, I should probably go supervise or something. Unless you want to? Or…maybe you want to come with me? I’m sure we could use the help to get some water into our moat.”

“Ah, no. It’s okay. I should stay with the bags. Someone needs to guard them in case of thieves or seagulls or…” he trailed off awkwardly as Harry’s face fell.

“Okay, good, yeah.” Harry backed up, nodding his head and swinging his arms, then wandered over to Scorpius, digging his toes into the sand as he went. Draco watched him walk away and didn’t even try to keep his hungry gaze off his arse. He felt like he’d earned a good ogle after the morning he’d had.

Draco joined in with the castle building eventually—Scorpius was harder to refuse than Harry—but he drew the line at going into the sea, so he used the time when Harry and Scorpius were jumping over waves to read more of his book. As the day heated up, he made sure he and Scorpius had constant protection from sunburn with layer upon layer of sunscreen charms. He tried to encourage Harry to do the same, but Harry argued that his darker skin was protection enough against the weak Italian sun. It was with no small degree of satisfaction that he noticed Harry’s nose was pink when they returned to the villa late that afternoon.

That night, Draco felt much more comfortable when he and Harry climbed into bed together. He’d not only had all day to mentally prepare himself, but the couple of hours he’d had to himself after his minor meltdown had given him time to think, and he’d come to the conclusion that, for the duration of the trip at least, he’d just let it happen. There was no point in fighting it, so he may as well enjoy the time with Harry and Scorpius when there was no one but his parents to judge him. He didn’t expect Harry to ever return his feelings, but he hoped they’d be able to salvage a friendship out of it when it everything inevitably turned to shit.

The end of the trip arrived all too quickly and Draco was amazed by how much he’d actually enjoyed himself. Harry had been absolutely brilliant with Scorpius, which meant Draco had been able to step back and take some time for himself to catch up on the reading he was usually too tired for, although Harry had also been quite adept at getting Draco to join in with the games he managed to invent from nothing. Lucius had kept out of everyone’s way for the most part, but Draco suspected even he had started to warm to Harry by the end of the week. Narcissa was completely smitten, but then she’d always had a soft spot for Harry. Feelings of guilt continued to swirl in the background of everything they did together, but Draco was getting much better at ignoring them and pushing them to one side. 

They had spent their days walking the coastline, discovering hidden coves and playing in the sand, or helping Narcissa in the garden, but the evenings had been what Draco looked forward to. After putting Scorpius to bed, his evenings had been spent on the veranda with Harry, drinking wine in the moonlight, gazing up at the stars, and talking about anything and everything. It was the most at peace Draco could ever remember feeling and part of him never wanted it to end. He knew as soon as they got back to England, the spell would be broken as real life jumped up and slapped them in the face, but for now, it was perfect. 

Draco tucked Scorpius into bed on their last night, already thinking ahead to the bottle of wine Harry had uncorked.

“Good night, Scorpius, sweet dreams,” he said bending down to kiss his son’s forehead. 

“Good night, Father. Love you,” Scorpius mumbled as he tugged the duvet up over his shoulders. Draco stood and stretched the crick out of his back. He was poised to _Nox_ the lights and cast a small, soft night light for the room when Scorpius spoke again. “I love my new daddy. Is he going to live with us when we get home? And Albus and James too? They’re brothers and they live together so now they’re my brothers they have to live with me!”

Draco faltered, his mouth hanging open. Scorpius thought Harry was his new dad? He’d always feared this happening, but somehow he’d managed to push it to the back of his mind over the past few days they’d been away from England. How could they have let this happen? Draco thought he’d been careful to not outwardly project any… _relationship-y_ vibes to his son, but clearly he hadn’t given him enough credit. He immediate thought was that Lucius or Narcissa had said something, but as much as he had problems with them, he knew they’d never intentionally stir up problems for their only grandson. Of course, Scorpius would think Harry and his sons had become part of their family—they’d never spent this much time with other people. They had certainly never invited anyone else to his parents’ villa. What had he been thinking?

“Night,” mumbled Scorpius, his voice muffled by the blankets pulled up around his face. Draco wanted to cry; he wanted to gather Scorpius up into his arms and apologise for leading him to believe he had gained the family he’d always dreamed of having; he wanted to beg for his forgiveness for thrusting heartbreak on to him at such an early age. How was he going to explain to his son that Harry wasn’t his dad? That Albus and James weren’t his brothers? That soon, they’d be alone again, just the pair of them and Blippy rattling around in the Manor.

He said none of that, though, nothing but a muttered 'Sorry,' as he _Noxed_ the lanterns and cast a night light before slipping out of the room. 

Once in the corridor, he sunk to his heels and buried his face in his hands. What the fuck was he going to do? No matter what happened now, Scorpius was going to get hurt. Carry on the lie and let Scorpius become more invested in the relationship just so that he could attend that ridiculous school, or end it now and hope that the school let him keep his place. He shook his head and muffled a groan with his hands. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t do that to Scorpius. Harry would understand, wouldn’t he? He’d let Albus stay friends with Scorpius?

He stood up woodenly and slowly made his way down to the veranda. His mother was reading in the living room so he spared her a brief wave, but nothing more. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Harry was sat in his usual chair to one side of the fire pit, glass of wine dangling from his fingers as he stared into the flames, firelight glinting off the hoop in his ear. He looked pensive, a faint frown marring his features as the shadows danced across his face. Draco made that snap decision that he couldn’t say anything now. Not here. He didn’t want to tarnish his memories of this time, of this place, with Harry’s disappointment or anger. He’d do it as soon as they got home. For now, he would try to enjoy this one last night and lose himself to the fantasy of a life with Harry for a short while longer.

Harry caught sight of him and smiled, the frown dropping instantly from his face. “Hey, didn’t see you there. Scorpius go down okay?” He poured a second glass of wine and held it out to Draco.

Draco smiled back but he didn’t trust his voice to enough to speak. He lowered himself into the chair beside Harry and gratefully took proffered glass, taking a fortifying sip, and holding it in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing it down. He stared blankly at the fire.

“Everything okay?” Harry asked a few minutes of silence, brow knitted with concern. He leaned in towards Draco, close enough that Draco could see the flames dancing in his eyes.

What could he say? _I’m going to fake-break-up with you tomorrow because my son thinks you’re his new dad. Thought you should know._ It probably wouldn’t go down too well. “Just tired,” he mumbled, shifting his gaze back to the fire.

“Yeah, it’s been a pretty full on week.”

Draco huffed his agreement and an uneasy silence descended between them.

“Hey, Draco?” Harry said, leaning forward again. “Can I be honest with you?” 

“Always,” Draco replied, grimacing slightly at the hypocrisy. He twisted the wine glass around in his fingers, mesmerised by the way the firelight made the ruby liquid shimmer and glow.

“Okay, well, I just wanted to say thanks for inviting me. I’ve actually had a really good time, and I didn’t expect that. I honestly thought it was going to be awful—not because of you, or Scorpius,” he hastened to add, “but because of being around your parents—”

“And yet you came anyway. What a hero you are,” Draco sneered, bitterness seeping into his tone.

Harry stared at him, eyes wide, brow furrowed. “Come on, you know I hate it when you call me that.” 

“Then stop being so bloody perfect all the time!” he snarled. Harry shrank back as if slapped, his mouth dropping open and Draco wilted, the anger draining from him as rapidly as it had appeared. He felt hollowed out, numb, and wanted nothing more than to collapse into Harry’s arms and have him say everything would be okay, but that wasn’t the relationship they had. “Sorry. I’ve got a bit of a headache. I’m going to bed,” he muttered. He downed the rest of his wine and swept off the veranda into the villa, slamming the French windows shut behind him. Narcissa looked questioningly at him as he stalked through the living room, but she didn’t comment and he didn’t offer any explanation. He didn’t have one to give anyway—rather than talk to Harry rationally, he’d had a tantrum and ruined what would probably be their last night together. At least it would make it easier to break things off if Harry already hated him.

Harry didn’t come to bed until much later that night. Salazar only knew what he was up to out there while Draco was lying in bed unable to sleep. As soon as he heard footsteps outside the door, though, he rolled onto his side and pulled the duvet up to his ears, hiding his face from view so Harry would leave him alone.

He tried not to feel too disappointed when Harry respected his wishes and did just that.

———

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Harry asked as he dried off from the shower with little regard to what the sight did to Draco’s insides—or _used to do_ to Draco’s insides. He needed to get over Harry and he couldn’t do that if he was still ogling him at every opportunity.

He shifted his gaze from the mirror to the dresser and continued to move the jars and bottles around. Harry had a terrible habit of abandoning toiletries haphazardly wherever he happened to be standing after using them, and it played on Draco’s last nerve. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Draco replied shortly, sliding the last jar into place so everything was neat once again.

“That’s crap, and you know it. You’ve been in a snit since last night. Did something happen? Did I do something wrong?”

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. “I told you. I just have a headache.”

“Right, sure,” Harry muttered. Draco heard him dress—probably t-shirt and jeans because Draco was yet to see him wear anything else—but he kept his back to the room, stubbornly avoiding Harry as best he could. “Well, I’m heading down to breakfast, so you can either come with me, or stay here and sulk. It’s up to you.” His footsteps were heavy, thudding dully on the exposed floorboards as he stomped out of the room. At least he didn’t slam the door, Draco thought absently, twisting a jar around so its label faced the front like all the others. 

Narcissa greeted him warmly when he eventually showed up at the breakfast table. He’d hidden upstairs for a further half an hour after Harry had left, and he would have hidden for longer but the sound of his son’s excited chatter floating in through his bedroom window was enough to shake him from his wallowing. Scorpius didn’t need the last few hours of their visit ruined, especially with how upset he was going to be once Draco fucked things up with Harry for good.

“How nice of you to finally show your face,” drawled Lucius.

“Oh don’t act like you’re not thrilled we’re leaving today,” Draco hissed after quickly checking that Scorpius was too preoccupied to be paying attention.

“I can assure you it’s not you that—” Lucius snapped his mouth shut after a harsh glare from Narcissa and ducked his head back behind his morning paper, muttering to himself. Draco rolled his eyes and flashed his mother a grateful smile before turning his attention back to the rest of the table. Scorpius was telling Harry about everything he and Albus were going to do when they next saw each other while Harry watched on, a soft expression on his face. Draco's stomach plummeted and for a second he considered abandoning the whole ‘break-up' plan. How bad could it get, pretending to Scorpius that he had a new family? Would it be so bad to keep fake-dating indefinitely? Would Harry mind putting his own love life on hold for so long? Then he tuned into what Scorpius was saying.

“Daddy, when are you and Albus and James coming to live with me and Father? Albus can have the bedroom next to mine because he’s my best friend.”

Harry choked on a mouthful of coffee, and his mouth opened and closed a few times as he searched for a response. He turned to Draco eyes wild with barely suppressed panic. Lucius and Narcissa watched on with interest.

“We can talk about it later, Scorpius,” Draco said firmly, ignoring everyone’s stares. “Eat your breakfast, we need to pack and get ready to leave.” 

Scorpius pouted, sad to be reminded their trip was over, but at least he dropped the subject. Harry shot him a small, grateful smile, but Draco pretended not to see it. He focused on the pastry on his plate, picking listlessly at it and sipping at his coffee until Harry announced that he ought to start packing and abruptly left the table. Narcissa sent Draco a quizzical look over the top of her teacup and looked pointedly over his shoulder to where Harry had disappeared, but said nothing. She had clearly sensed the atmosphere between him and Harry though and he wondered how much she actually knew.

———

Scorpius was near-inconsolable once Harry had Floo’d home from the Ministry after they arrived back in the UK. He wouldn’t be tempted by any of his favourite toys or food, so Draco could do nothing but hug him and murmur soothing words and sounds until the sobbing trailed off into wet, hiccough-y sniffs. It broke his heart, but at the same time strengthened his resolve. If Scorpius was this upset after such a short length of time, then it would surely only get worse if he let things drag on. He wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable conversation with Harry though—even thinking about bringing it up with him turned his stomach into a writhing nest of snakes.

For the rest of the day, Draco had to endure Scorpius talking endlessly about how amazing Harry was, and how he couldn’t wait for Albus to come over and play so he could show him all his toys, and how Harry was going to teach him and Albus to ride a broom because James already had his own broom. He tried on numerous occasions to change the subject or distract him, but no matter what he did, Scorpius always brought it back to the Potters. Draco even snapped at one point, yelling at him to be quiet, but that only left him feeling ten times worse and sent Scorpius into a sulk. He went back and forth on his decision to ‘break up’ with Harry. He knew it was the right thing, but it didn’t _feel_ right. He wanted to grab hold of him and never let him go…but that wasn’t healthy for either of them. Harry needed his life back and Draco needed to stop leading Scorpius on.

By the time he’d put Scorpius to bed and got a blessed relief from all the ‘Potter’ talk, his head and heart were all over the place, so he did the only thing he could think of—he called Pansy.

"Well, well, well. He lives!" Pansy leant forward, her eagerness clear even through the flames. "So…how was the romantic getaway with Potter and your parents? Did you shag yet?" 

Draco closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. “I… it’s all ruined, Pans. I don’t know what to do.” His voice wavered slightly but he thought he’d done a good job of holding himself together until he heard the concern in Pansy’s voice.

“What happened?” she demanded.

He drew in a shaky breath. “Scorpius called Harry ‘Daddy’ and thinks Albus is his brother, so I think I have to break up with Potter,” he blurted.

“Out of the way, I’m coming through.”

She barely gave him time to shuffle back and stand up before she tumbled out of the fireplace and straight into his arms. He hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair and squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn’t going to cry—he refused—but Merlin, it was good to have her there. She held him close and stroked his hair while whispering soft reassurances and he felt some of the tightness in his chest loosen, if only slightly.

“You need to explain exactly what happened,” Pansy said when they pulled apart. “Leave nothing out.” She led him over to the sofa and pulled him down so his head was nestled in her lap. When they were settled, she resumed stroking his hair, raking her fingers across his scalp in a soothing rhythm. 

Once he'd ordered his thoughts, Draco took his time telling her everything; from the lunches to the play dates, to the party at the Weasley house, to the nights on the veranda in Italy, and then he finished with Scorpius' words to him on that last night at the villa. It was cathartic, opening up about everything. She may have known about the fake relationship, but he'd not shared any of the sordid details with her before.

“I think you already know what you need to do,” Pansy said gently, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles where his hand was clasped in hers.

“But Scorpius will be devastated. Can I really do that to him? And what about when the school finds out? They’ll rescind his place.”

“You don’t know that, Draco. And you’re acting like this is a real break-up. You’ll still be friends. Scorpius will still see Albus.”

“But it won’t be the same. We need to spend less time together—it's confusing for Scorpius. It'll be best if we don't see them at all for a while at least. Oh, Merlin, Ginny is going to kill me."

“What makes you say that? I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“No, I very clearly remember her telling me she’d feed me my own testicles if I upset her children. Fuck. This couldn’t get any worse.” Draco turned over and buried his face in her hoodie.

“Here’s a thought,” she said after a while. “Have you considered telling Potter how you feel? How you _really_ feel, I mean, none of that ‘I like you as a friend’ crap.”

Draco twisted his head around and glared up at her from his position on her thigh. She looked thoughtful. That was never a good sign.

“No. Unequivocally no. What would that possibly achieve other than to make this whole ridiculous charade ten times more awkward?” He’d neglected to mention, in his retelling of their fake relationship saga, that he was well aware of his deep feelings for Harry. She teased him enough thinking he just had a crush so he wasn’t going to give her more ammunition. Pansy gave him a despairing look, which Draco chose to ignore, but then resumed her petting of his hair, and summoned some whiskey from the drinks cabinet with her free hand and all was forgiven,

After Pansy left, Draco stumbled to his office on unsteady legs. He wasn’t drunk, but he was well into tipsy, and the emotional turmoil had left him bone weary. It felt a little like a fog had settled on his mind, dulling his senses, and he longed to collapse into bed. First, though, he wanted to write to Harry. He knew if he put it off, then he’d manage to talk himself out of it, and he’d already decided there was no way he could say anything to Harry’s face—the second Harry turned those baleful green eyes upon him and hit him with an impassioned speech about how _right_ everything was, he’d collapse in on himself like a wet sandcastle.

He grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment from his drawer and sunk down in his expensive leather desk-chair, twisting from side to side with his toes on the floor. The parchment mocked him with its blankness, so he took a deep breath and wrote the first thing that came to his mind.

_Dear Harry,  
I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. I no longer feel comfortable deceiving everyone as to the nature of our relationship. It was foolish to think that we could do this without any negative consequences. Please don’t try and talk me out of this—it is the right thing to do, for us and for our children. I hope that Albus and Scorpius can still be friends, but I think it would be good if we maintained some distance, at least for the time being.  
Thank you for your understanding,  
DM_

He scanned it quickly to check for errors, then folded it and sealed it in an envelope. 

“Blippy!” 

The house-elf appeared instantly, clutching a duster in her hands. “Yes, Master Draco?”

“Please ensure this gets sent to Harry Potter first thing in the morning. I’d like him to receive it before he leaves for work. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” She took the letter and placed it carefully in the pocket on the front of her tunic. “Would Master Draco like a nightcap before bed?”

“Er, no. No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Oh…one last thing, would you mind adjusting the wards to restrict Potter’s access to the Manor and Floo?”

“Certainly. I’ll do that right away, Master, before sending the letter.”

“Thank you.” He expected her to Disapparate immediately, but she stood there for a few moments longer, twisting the duster around in her fingers.

“It is not my place to ask, but is Master okay?”

Draco smiled weakly. “Yes, thank you, Blippy. I just got a bit carried away with a fantasy, but don't worry. Everything will soon be back to normal.”

Blippy studied him, her eyes wide and sad as she tugged at the hem of her tunic. She’d known him his whole life—she’d practically raised him thanks to his parents’ busy social lives before the war—so she obviously knew he was lying, but she didn’t press the matter. He wouldn’t be surprised if he came down to breakfast the next day and found she’d prepared his favourite foods. It was one way she showed she cared—small actions that demonstrated she was aware of his mood without forcing him to open up.

He carried himself to bed in a weary daze, and when he at long last fell onto his large, soft mattress and burrowed down into the duvet, he finally let the tears fall.


	12. Chapter 12

Draco timed his arrival at work that morning to coincide with the debrief. He didn’t doubt that Harry had received his letter by now, and he knew that there would be no avoiding a confrontation, but he hoped to delay it for as long as possible. He was banking on Harry’s hatred of being a public spectacle to stop him from making a scene in front of all their colleagues, so he slipped into the debriefing room only moments after Robards, and sat in a free chair at the front, as far from Harry as he could get. He swore he could feel Harry’s eyes boring into his back the entire time, but Draco refused to look around or engage with him.

As soon as Robards finished up, Draco sprang out of his seat and made a dash for the door. He thought he heard Harry call out _‘Wait!’_ , but the general hubbub in the room gave him the perfect excuse to pretend he hadn’t heard. When no one followed him, though, he thought he must have imagined it. He had been assuming that Harry would be upset by his decision to end their arrangement, but perhaps he didn’t care at all. Maybe Harry was relieved to no longer have to pretend to enjoy spending time with him. After all, it was only Draco who’d stupidly let himself get too invested in the fake-relationship. Why would Harry treat their ‘break-up’ as any more than an inconvenient setback in his campaign against discrimination?

When he arrived back at his cubicle, he found two cupcakes perched on his desk with a small note beside them.

_Draco, I hope you and Harry had a wonderful holiday and I can’t wait to hear all about it. My grandson turned 8 at the weekend, and I saved you and your man a couple of cupcakes. They’re chocolate—a favourite of yours, I know. I hope you like the decoration—can you guess the theme of the party…? We’ll catch up later, Sheila x_

Draco looked more closely at the cupcakes. They were both topped with thick, white icing and one had a little sugar lightning bolt, while the other had a little sugar pair of round-framed glasses. Then he noticed the pattern on the napkin beneath them—a ghastly mess of lightning bolts, glasses, broomsticks, and white owls on a Gryffindor-red background. He'd somehow managed to forget about the strange new craze for Potter-themed parties, but a smile crept across his face as he recalled a horrified Harry telling him about them one night at his parent's villa. At the time Draco had found it hilarious and had threatened to buy up all the Potter-themed party supplies he could find for Scorpius' fifth birthday party in November, but the memory of that night just made him feel sick now.

He tucked the note in his pocket and guiltily _Vanished_ the cupcakes. He couldn’t bring himself to eat them, but he didn’t want to leave them on his desk for anyone to find—least of all Harry. What sort of mixed message would that send him when he inevitably stormed in to confront Draco about his letter? _I know you hate me right now but here, have a you-themed cupcake._ With that image in mind, Draco grabbed a notebook and several files full of colour-coded notes and headed off to the archives. He wasn't trying to hide, exactly, but no one ever bothered him in the archives so it felt like the best place to be in his current mood. He always felt better after burying himself nose-first in old case files; the dim-light, the cool air, and the rustle of parchment like a soothing balm for his churning; the noise and bustle of the office reduced to nothing but a muffled murmur on the other side of the door.

Draco managed to waste most of the day hidden in the far corner of the cavernous room, and had made satisfying progress through the unwieldy stack of loose files he’d been trying to catalogue for the past several months. It was repetitive, but rewarding, creating order from the mess, and if he kept back a few of the more interesting files to look at in more detail, no one cared if they got returned. After several hours, he’d amassed quite a large pile of files, fully catalogued and ready for relocating to the appropriate shelves.

The door at the opposite end of the room creaked open, destroying Draco’s peace and quiet by flooding the room with office noise. The angry screech of the ancient hinges protesting at the movement sounded unnaturally loud. Draco grimaced and stilled his pen. He wasn’t in the mood for engaging with anyone, so he remained motionless and listened closely. It wasn’t that unusual for someone to come poking their nose into the archives, but they rarely stayed long. Sometimes they were looking for him, expecting him to help locate a piece of evidence or a particular file, but on occasion, people were looking for somewhere private to engage in some on-duty nookie. It had been a while now since that had last happened, though—not, in fact, since Draco, irritated at being disturbed, had levitated some particularly gruesome scene-of-crime pictures at the couple to chase them off. He privately wondered if that was the origin of the rumour he’d heard that the room was haunted by a malevolent spirit, because he’d never met one in all the hours he’d spent alone.

When the door clicked shut, Draco sagged with relief, but then he heard a quiet _Lumos!_ and groaned inwardly. He would recognise that voice anywhere, even whispered from the other side of the room.

“Draco? Are you in here? We need to talk. You know you can’t hide from me forever,” Harry shouted.

Draco closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the shelf behind him. “Of course, you couldn’t just leave me in peace,” he muttered under his breath, although Harry’s appearance was hardly unexpected. He was only surprised it had taken him this long to track him down.

The light of Harry's _Lumos_ grew stronger as he drew closer, creeping beneath the over-laden shelves and shining through the gaps in the unevenly stacked files. Clearly, Harry wasn't one of those to be put off from a deeper exploration of the archives by something as mundane as the rumour of a malevolent spirit. Draco reluctantly pushed himself up off the floor and tidied away the files he'd spread around him so that by the time Harry rounded the corner, he was leaning casually against one of the shelving units, one file open in his hands.

“There you are. Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry asked accusingly. Draco squinted and focused on the file in his hands—the light from the end of Harry’s wand was far too bright after a day spent in near darkness.

“I was busy,” he remarked blandly. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re a difficult man to find, Draco. With the way you’ve been hiding away all day, I almost feel like you’re avoiding me.”

“And yet it never occurred to you that would be a good reason to not come looking for me.” 

“You expect me not to want to talk about that letter you sent?” Harry snapped, stepping closer to Draco.

“No, but I _hoped_ you would take the contents of the letter as my final say on the matter. I’ve nothing further to discuss with you.”

“Draco!” Harry cried, throwing his hands up in the air. The shadows around them danced with the movement of his wand. “You can’t just break up with someone by owl and then refuse to talk to them. Have you any idea how shitty that is?”

Draco snapped the file shut. “We weren’t together, Potter,” he spat. “It was a lie, remember? You should since it was _your_ stupid idea. So, I wasn’t ‘breaking up’ with you. I was merely ending our arrangement. It doesn’t require a postmortem or any heartfelt chats.”

“But what about the school? What about Scorpius?”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?” Draco growled, surging towards Harry, his hands curling into fists as he forced himself not to take hold of his shoulders and shake sense into him. “Scorpius thinks you’re his new father, and he thinks Albus and James are the brothers he’s always desperately wanted! I can’t do this to him anymore. It needs to end now before…before it gets too real for him.”

Harry crumpled, face lined with concern “I...I’m so sorry. I thought…I mean, we so were careful not to say anything in front of the boys…I never meant for that to happen.”

“Yes, well, it did.” 

“Maybe we can fix this…Maybe we can…I don’t know…explain to the boys—”

"No! I've said I want to stop this, so that's final! Don't try and talk me round. I'm doing what's in the best interests of my son, and nothing you say will change my mind. You'll have to find someone else for your crusade because Scorpius and I are out.”

“But…”

“No, Potter. We’re through. I’d appreciate it if you could keep your distance from me for the time being, and it would be an idea to keep our relationship strictly professional from now on.”

Draco stuffed the file that was clasped in his hand back onto the shelf beside him and stormed away from Harry before giving him the chance to get a last word in. Harry stumbled back into the opposite shelving unit, his expression unreadable. He half-expected Harry to grab him or call after him, but he managed to make it all way to his desk without anyone stopping him, and then spent the rest of the day furious with himself for feeling disappointed that Harry didn’t fight harder to salvage their friendship.

———

It wasn’t long before the entire office became aware of his and Harry’s ‘break-up’. Everywhere he turned people were glaring at him or whispering in huddled groups only to go silent as he passed by. It was just how things had been when he’d first joined up as an Auror—people suspicious of his every action, watching him closely for any misstep. As usual, Draco dealt with it by keeping his head down and ignoring people—he kept to his cubicle or the archives or the evidence lockup and he didn’t linger in any common areas. Harry, however, dealt with things in a slightly different way. He snapped at his colleagues and stomped around the office, snarling at anyone who looked like they might be gossiping. Draco even heard him properly lose his temper a few times, his voice carrying across the open-plan office like a Howler, making Draco cringe and shrink down into his chair. It didn’t make any difference to the glares and whispers around him though.

Harry tried to speak to him on several occasions, but Draco successfully evaded him every time by darting off in the opposite direction whenever he approached, and eventually, he seemed to get the message. Draco almost missed the pestering on the first day that Harry made no attempt to speak to him, but quickly shoved that thought aside and cautiously celebrated his victory. Harry no longer trying to convince him to continue with the lie meant Draco had won—he wished it didn’t leave him feeling so hollow.

He soon discovered, though, that the reason Harry had stopped bothering him at his desk was because he wasn’t even in the office. Johnson was still around, so it was unlikely that he was working on a case, but Draco didn’t want to seem like a jealous ex-boyfriend and start asking questions so he tried to keep an ear out for any gossip. He wondered if he was off sick, or if perhaps Albus or James were ill, but then decided it wasn’t his place to care since they weren’t even friends anymore. So he tried to put all thoughts of Harry out of his mind and make the most of him not being around.

The worst thing about the whole mess wasn't the gossiping or the stares or the occasional tripping hex, it was the loneliness. Before Harry, he'd never used to mind so much about always eating lunch alone or taking coffee breaks at his desk with no one to talk to, but he had become used to the interruptions and the friendly banter, and now it was gone, he felt truly alone in the office. The only thing that stopped him from calling in sick until the whole thing blew over was the visits from Sheila. She had stopped by his cubicle the day after news of his and Harry's ‘break-up' had become common knowledge and brought him a tub of ice cream because she'd heard from her daughter-in-law that ice cream was good for broken hearts ( _'she's a Muggle, but you wouldn't know it to look at her. Adapted marvellously to our world, she has.'_ ). Draco didn't have the strength to insist that his heart wasn't broken, but he drew the line at letting her think he'd been dumped. So, he'd let her fuss over him for most of that afternoon while they demolished the entire tub and she'd shared outrageous stories from her surprisingly colourful past. From that point on, she made a point of visiting him every day, always with something sweet to eat and a funny anecdote, and her visits gave him the strength to get through the loneliness.

The anticipated rejection letter from Athelstan’s arrived the week after their ‘break-up’. It had barely been ten days since he had sent Harry the letter ending their arrangement, fewer still since word of their ‘break-up’ had gotten out. Despite knowing it was coming, the second he saw that oh-so-familiar crest emblazoned upon the letter the owl dropped on his breakfast table, his heart sunk; he didn’t need to open it to know it was bad news. He roughly snatched it off the table, a shiver running down his spine at the sight of his named scrawled across the back in spidery handwriting. He wondered if he could _Incendio_ it and pretend he’d never received the damn thing, but he knew that delaying or avoiding opening it wouldn’t change anything. With cold, dread settling in his stomach, he slowly cracked the wax seal and opened up the letter.

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_  
In light of your recent separation from Mr Potter, I’m afraid we can no longer offer your son a place at our school. If you have already purchased any items of uniform, you may return them to the school for a full refund.  
We wish you the best of luck in finding an alternative solution.  
Warm regards,  
Agatha Pole  
Headmistress,  
Athelstan’s Primary School for the Magically Inclined. 

At least it was to the point. No fannying about with flowery language. Draco wearily dragged a hand down over his face and glanced across the table at Scorpius, who was busily stuffing cornflakes into his mouth like he'd been told it was his last meal. His legs were swinging under the table and he looked so innocent, so happy, and it hurt Draco deeply to think that his son's life would be forever tarnished by mistakes made before he was born. Scorpius was so excited about the idea of starting school, and about being with his best friend Albus every day, and Draco had no idea how he was going to break the news to him that it would no longer be happening. One thing at a time, perhaps. 

Draco waited two weeks before breaking the news about the school to Scorpius. Part of him had hoped that if he just didn't mention the Potters or the school, then it would slip from Scorpius' mind. However, with more time that passed, Scorpius' pestering only grew more insistent, so one afternoon Draco bought him a tub of ice cream (on the advice of Sheila), prepared his favourite dinner, and very carefully tried to explain that he wouldn't be going to the school anymore. Scorpius took the news about as well as expected; he'd been absolutely devastated and at that moment, Draco had never hated Harry more—he was the one who’d given them both hope. If he’d never come up with his stupid plan, Scorpius would never have realised what he was missing from being holed up in the Manor, and Draco wouldn’t know what it was like to almost get everything he ever wanted. Eventually, the only thing that calmed him down was Draco promising that he could still see Albus, although Draco wasn’t sure when this would be since it would mean talking to Harry.

Every chance Scorpius got, he harassed Draco about seeing Albus, and Potter-related tantrums fast became routine. Draco still held out hope that time and distance would eventually help his son ‘get over it’, but as he lay there in bed one Saturday morning after once again being woken by Scorpius barrelling into his room, he was reminded just how stubbornly loyal Scorpius could be. He sighed deeply. He knew what would follow as soon as Scorpius saw him open his eyes so he laid there a moment longer, savouring the last seconds of peace before—

“Father? Are you awake now? Can we see Albus today? You promised soon. Is it soon now?”

“No, not yet,” Draco croaked, his voice still thick with sleep. He rolled over and gestured for Scorpius to climb into his bed, hugging him, breathing in the sleepy scent of his hair until the little boy squirmed out of his arms and faced him, eyes bright and hopeful.

“Am I bad?”

Draco bolted upright, dislodging Scorpius from his lap. "Why would you ask that? Of course, you're not bad. Did…has someone said something? If anyone says anything like that to you, you're to ignore them and tell me immediately, okay?" Draco vowed he would hex anyone who dared make his son feel bad about who he was.

“You said bad things happen to bad people, and now I can’t see Albus or go to school, so is it because I’m bad?”

Draco’s heart lurched and guilt clawed at his insides. “No! No, no, no. Scorpius, you must believe me, this has nothing to do with you. You’re a good boy. A good, kind, beautiful boy and don’t ever, for one second, think that you deserve any bad things that happen to you. I’ll speak to Harry soon and organise something. He’s, um, been very busy recently so that’s the only reason we’ve not seen them. It’s nothing to do with anything you’ve done, okay?”

Scorpius nodded but he still didn’t look particularly happy, so Draco held him tightly and hope desperately that he’d been able to soothe some of his doubts.

After only a few minutes, he wriggled out of Draco’s hold and jumped off the bed, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts in turmoil. He hadn’t seen Harry for a few weeks now, and no one seemed to know anything about where he’d vanished to, so he couldn’t arrange a play-date with him even if he wanted to. Draco tried not to feel too concerned, but even so, he had started scouring the _Prophet_ for any information as to his whereabouts. Aside from the usual speculation about his favourite colour or who he was currently screwing now his ‘Death Eater fling’ was over, there was very little to go on. One columnist had noted his absence from work, but Draco had stopped reading as soon as they had claimed it was because he’d needed time off to ‘cleanse his aura’ after his most recent failed romance.

Over breakfast, Draco promised to take Scorpius on an outing, and this seemed to perk him up a little. He finished off all his toast and then ran upstairs to choose which toys to take with him. Draco was just finishing up his own breakfast when Blippy suddenly Apparated into the kitchen. Draco was startled, jerking the mug in his hand and sloshing coffee all down his top—he wasn’t used to her appearing without being summoned these days. It was disconcerting and he immediately felt uneasy. This feeling was only reinforced when he took in how nervous Blippy looked, twisting the hem of her tunic around in her fingers and staring up at him with large amber eyes. 

“Master Draco, sir. There is someone to see you. I tried to tell him to wait but he was most insistent…”

“Who did you let into my house?” Draco asked carefully, despite being fairly sure he knew what the answer was.

“Mr Harry Potter, sir. He said it was an emergency, and he was your friend for a time so I didn’t want to leave him outside in the rain.” 

Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His first thought was that he’d have to think of something else to do with Scorpius if it was raining, but then he turned his mind to the more urgent problem of Harry Potter roaming about his house. The same Harry Potter who’d been off on a three week jolly to who-knew-where.

“It’s fine, Blippy. You did the right thing.” The tips of Blippy’s ears perked up and she straightened her posture a bit, losing some of her anxiousness. It was a hangover from her time serving under Lucius that she could at times be so nervous and hesitant and Draco hoped that she would eventually not feel so worried around him. He’d certainly never raised a wand in anger at her. “We couldn’t have Harry Potter catch a chill,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes. “So, where is he now?”

“In the entrance hall, sir. I wouldn’t let him come any further even though he wanted to see you right away!” she stated proudly.

“Very good. Please show him to the…” Draco paused. He would usually greet guests in the drawing room, but this was Harry. It would be pointless to waste any pomp on him. “Please take him to the solarium and offer him a drink.”

“Right away, Master Draco.” 

“Oh, and Blippy, please try to keep Scorpius away from him—I don’t want him knowing he’s here. It will only get his hopes up.”

Blippy nodded and then Disapparated with a crack. Draco’s thoughts swirled furiously around in his head. What on earth was Harry doing here? Why had he barged into Draco’s home? How had he convinced Blippy to let him in through the wards? Why would he not just leave them alone!

Despite his anger, Draco couldn't help but be curious. He refused to drop everything and rush off to greet him though. He'd allow enough time for Blippy to escort Harry to the solarium and get him settled with a drink, then he'd add on a little extra to give him time to stew. Pleased with his plan, he sat down and leisurely finished his coffee before straightening out the kitchen. He tidied away the breakfast things, set the dishes washing in the sink, _Scourgified_ the table, and lazily flicked his wand at the dustpan and brush to start it sweeping the floor. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he surveyed the kitchen, absently wiping his hands on a tea towel. He thought enough time had passed now. Hopefully, Harry was suitably irritated about being kept waiting and would have learnt a valuable lesson about not barging into people's homes when he wasn't welcome. When Draco's eyes grazed past the doorway into the hall, though, he froze. 

“Morning, Draco.” Harry was leaning against the doorway, an amused smirk plastered across his face, and his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were bright and keen, but dark bags spoke of exhaustion and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in the entire time he’d been off work. He clearly hadn’t been taking care of himself properly, but he was still beautiful and Draco could not stop _staring_.

“Potter,” he remarked, “I see once again common decency has deserted you.” He was pleased with how steady his voice sounded because he’d been sure it would come out in a nervous squeak. He carefully folded the tea towel and hung it over the back of a chair to remove the temptation to fiddle with it.

“You’re a hard man to pin down, Draco. You didn’t exactly leave me much option.”

Draco scoffed. “You’re one to talk. I’m not the one who’s been missing from work for the last three weeks.”

“I had some things to take care of,” Harry said with a one-shouldered shrug. “Robards okayed it.”

“Of course he did.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Robards, along with most of the wizarding world, thinks the sun shines out of your arse, so he’s hardly going to deny you a little time to piss about while the rest of us have to work hard for a living.” 

Harry’s expression darkened and Draco felt a little thrill race along his spine at being able to get such a reaction out of him. “Fuck you. I work hard. I don’t ask for all this—” Harry cut himself off, waving his hands in front of him. “No. You know what? You can’t draw me into an argument. I came here to talk to you.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to talk to you?” Draco growled.

“Fine. Be like that. You can at least listen. I’m not going to force you to say anything back, but I’m not leaving until I’ve said my piece.”

Draco stiffened but didn’t reply. He pursed his lips and scowled at Harry. He’d listen, but only to make him leave faster—he wouldn’t get dragged into another of his ridiculous schemes. 

Seeing Draco’s grudging acceptance, Harry stepped further into the room, tapping his fingers against the surface of the table.

“So,” he started glancing up at Draco from beneath his mop of hair, “the reason I’ve had the last few of weeks off is that I’ve been trying to sort something out and I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure it could go ahead, and, well, Hermione seems to think it’s a solid plan, and when is she ever wrong, right?”

“Spit it out, Potter. I have things to be getting on with,” Draco sneered.

“Right, right. Okay, so, here it is, um…” The steady _tap tap tap_ of his fingers on the table sped up and became more frantic, and he quickly lost any rhythm he had, until he seemed to realise what he was doing and clenched both of his hands into fists.

“Potter…” Draco urged, curiosity starting to outweigh his irritation.

He puffed his cheeks out and exhaled slowly. “I’ve handed my notice in. I’m quitting the Aurors—” Draco’s mouth dropped open. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out his jaw had hit the floor. Of all the things he expected to come out of Harry’s mouth… “—and I’ve… no, Ginny and I, we’ve withdrawn Albus and James from Athelstan’s.”

“What? Why? Are you home-schooling? Is this—”

“I’m still sorting out the details, but…” Harry took another deep breath and looked Draco square in the eyes, his face set with determination. “I’m setting up my own primary school, with a view to being ready for the first students in September, and I wanted you to know that there’s a place for Scorpius, if you want it. Albus and James will be there, obviously. And Ron and Hermione’s daughter too, and several other Weasley kids. Oh, and Dean and Seamus’ twins. There’s quite a little gang of us already—seems like it wasn’t just me who was unhappy with Athelstan’s.”

Draco shook his head, temporarily speechless. He couldn’t believe Harry’s arrogance. “Only you would decide to open a school because you’re pissed off with the current Head.”

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, then the corners of his lips quirked up in a hopeful smile. “Well, what do you think?”

“I…I’m not sure what you want me to say. Do you have any idea how to run a school? This isn’t a little project you can mess about with until you get bored. What you do will affect the lives of every child under your tutelage.”

“I’m not going to do it by myself—that’s what I’ve been trying to sort out. You know, getting people on board and such. I’ve got two teachers lined up so far, and I’ve got backing from Kingsley—apparently he went to school with Agatha and never liked her much—funding isn’t an issue, first intake is already sorted. Really, all I’m missing is a premises. I need a building we can expand into as we grow, and with enough outdoor space for play, sports, and creature studies, that sort of thing.”

Draco had never fully understood the meaning of the word gobsmacked until now. How was Harry talking about this like it was no big deal? What sort of person, with no _real_ teaching experience, decides to open a school?

“And…one last thing…” Harry continued, tugging hand through his hair. “I was hoping, maybe you’d want to come on board and help me? You’re brilliant with the kids, you know. Firm yet patient. And you’re a talented wizard. The kids would learn so much from you—”

“You want me to be a teacher!?” Draco gasped.

“You don’t have to be—I mean, I could definitely use your organisational skills and financial acumen, or whatever you want! I know you love your job, Draco, but we have a chance here to really make a difference. Please, promise me, you’ll think about it.”

Draco huffed out a resigned sigh. “I…okay, yes. I’ll think about it. I really should be getting Scorpius ready to go out, so…”

"Oh! Sure, yeah. I won't take up any more of your time. Let me know, okay? And we should arrange another play-date for the boys soon—Al’s really sad without his little friend.”

He nodded weakly and mumbled a vague affirmation. Harry grinned back at him, his face alight with excitement as he strolled out of the kitchen.

———

All day, Draco couldn’t stop thinking about what Harry had said. He was so distracted that when they stopped for refreshments, he accidentally agreed to buy Scorpius the largest ice cream on the menu—a poor decision he was later reminded of when Scorpius vomited all over the rug after they Apparated home. 

When his friends arrived that night for their long-awaited monthly meet-up, Draco was in two minds over whether to tell them. Greg, Daphne, Millie and Theo had turned up, as well as Pansy and Blaise, and despite his happiness at seeing so many of his friends, Draco could barely concentrate on anything anyone was saying. His mind kept providing him scenarios of what could happen if he and Harry both worked at the school—surely it would be nothing but horrifically awkward. And what if it failed spectacularly? Harry’s children and the others would be fine, but what about Scorpius? 

“So, are we supposed to be pretending that the thing with Potter never happened?” asked Millie, blunt as a hammer, as usual. Her casual mention of Harry sliced through the fog of Draco’s thoughts and yanked him back into the room. He looked up to find everyone glaring at Millie and carefully avoiding his eyes. “What?” Millie said innocently, “Oh come on, don’t tell me none of you aren’t at least a little curious.”

“Mills, just drop it. This is a Potter-free night,” Pansy said sternly.

“Fine, I’ll wait ‘til he’s more pissed,” Millie smirked. “He’s a chatty drunk. Maybe we’ll get some really juicy details then.”

“Millie—”

“I’m right here, you know.” Draco snapped. “And if you must know…” he glanced at Pansy, who nodded encouragingly and squeezed his knee affectionately. Only Blaise and Pansy knew about the fake relationship, so for everyone else’s benefit, he started at the beginning. He’d told no one about Harry’s offer so far though, so when he got to that part, Pansy’s eyes widened and she almost choked on her wine.

“So let me get this straight,” Pansy said slowly. “The object of your affections; the man you’ve been obsessed with for the last twenty years, give or take; the man who, up until your latest snit, put his life on hold to pretend to be your fiance so that your son could get into the school you wanted—”

“I think we get the picture, Pans,” Blaise interrupted, his eyes alight with amusement.

“This man has quit his job and plans to open a school because he was annoyed at the way they treated Scorpius? And not only that, given you a way out of the job you hate by asking you to work with him?”

“Well, yes. I supposed that’s…more or less it.” Draco replied cautiously. He wasn’t sure where she was headed, but he didn’t like her tone.

“So, you said yes, and then you asked him out, right?” 

Draco spluttered. “Um, no?” He glanced around at the faces of his friends, hoping to find them looking as incredulous as he felt, but no one seemed even the slightest bit surprised at Pansy’s words. “Why would I ask him out? He doesn’t like me like that! And I don’t like him!” he added hastily.

“Draco!” Pansy yelled, flinging a cushion at his face. “Merlin’s saggy tits. What more does that poor man need to do to show how much he likes you? Honestly! He quit his job for you and your son! For fuck’s sake, Draco. If you don’t go and ask him out then I will, because he is too precious to lose.”

Draco pouted and sunk back into his chair, refusing to engage with his friends anymore. He had expected a little teasing, but he had also hoped for a little support, maybe even some understanding. 

“Look, Draco,” Blaise said once all the teasing had died down, "You've been worried about what to do about Scorpius' education for ages, and now Potter is serving you this perfect solution on a golden platter. Not only that, but he's also providing you with the perfect out from a job that makes you miserable. What is there to be afraid of? I highly doubt any of this is conditional on you fucking him. If you want my advice, I say take the school place, take the job offer, and then fuck his brains out. You'd have to be blind not to notice how much he's into you. Seriously.”

There was a chorus of agreement from everyone. “I hate you all,” Draco grumbled. He still didn’t completely believe what they were saying about Harry because surely, if Harry really liked him, then he would have said something, but he could grudgingly see they were right about his offer. It definitely appeared to be a perfect solution, but was it too perfect?

———

Draco didn't bother pretending he wasn't intentionally seeking out Harry on Monday morning. He'd spent the last two or so months avoiding him, but now he needed to check that he really was quitting his job to open a school, that it hadn't been something his lovesick mind had conjured. Judging from the uproar in the office though, the chances were that Draco hadn't imagined Harry's visit. As Draco approached the office he saw Harry kicked back in his chair, legs up on the desk in front of him, a folder rested on his lap which held his full attention. There were several open boxes around him, but otherwise, nothing looked out of the ordinary. If he was being honest, Draco had expected to see at least a few colleagues crowding into his office, trying to change his mind or sniff out some gossip, but even Johnson was absent.

Harry was staring so intently at the contents of the folder in front of him that he didn’t even notice Draco stepping into the room.

“So you’re really leaving?” Draco asked as he slammed the door shut behind him. He was beyond caring what others might think seeing him stalking into Harry’s office.

Harry jerked up in his chair and almost tumbled backwards before he managed to catch himself. “Draco!” he yelped, jumping to his feet, the folder falling to the ground and sending its contents whizzing across the floor.

“Well?” 

Harry dropped down to his hands and knees and started gathering up the stray sheets of paper. “Um, yeah? I told you I was. Didn’t you believe me?”

“I didn’t know what to believe!” Draco exclaimed as Harry crawled under his desk “You said a lot of outlandish things.” 

“Oh, well it’s true.” There was a muffled thud and an _Ooof_ , then Harry emerged and stood up, rubbing the back of his head, his glasses crooked. “All of what I said was true.”

“Is it because of me?”

"No! …Maybe? A little? I just…" he slapped the loose pages from the folder down onto the desk and let out an exasperated grunt as he started pacing. "What sort of school rejects a four-year-old because of his surname? He's four, for fuck's sake! I don't want my sons having any part in an institution like that. It's not a nurturing environment. This is how poisonous ideas start to take root.” Harry stopped and gripped the back of his chair. “Why won't people learn?”

Draco didn’t have a response for him, but Harry didn’t seem to expect one. He turned back to his desk and began stuffing the loose pages into the folder.

After watching him struggle for a few moments, Draco pulled out his wand and muttered a spell to put the folder and its contents back together. He smirked at the unimpressed look Harry shot him, and then sobered when he remembered why he was there. “You’re really serious about starting your own school?” he asked.

Harry straightened. “Totally one hundred percent serious. I’ve never been more serious about anything before.”

“I always imagined there would be a little more red tape and Ministry stalling involved,” Draco said, shaking his head.

"Oh, there is. It's bloody awful. But, you know, I might have thrown my weight around a bit, and called in a few favours…" he smiled sheepishly and Draco found himself getting drawn back in.

“Harry Potter, using his name to get ahead?” he gasped. “I’m astonished. Flabbergasted. Colour me shocked.” He pressed a hand to his cheek and Harry laughed, shoving Draco lightly on the shoulder.

“Okay okay. You’ve made your point.” Harry grinned at him, and Draco's heart stuttered. The room suddenly felt much too small for both of them. He could hear Pansy's voice in his head, her words swirling around and around, teasing him for being so oblivious. She wasn't right, though. She couldn't be right. He strode over to one of the low bookcases that lined the walls, putting his back to Harry, and pretended to be fascinated by the selection of books and knickknack's stuffed haphazardly onto its shelves—anything to force a little distance between them.

“So, um, you should probably know, Robards is putting me on gardening leave at the end of the week. I’ve got to get all my cases handed over, but then, I’m out of here.”

Draco spun around, dropping the book he’d picked up. It made a loud clunk as it hit the shelf. “One week? That’s all?” Everything was moving so fast! He didn’t even want to think how people would act towards him without Harry around.

“Yeah…I think Robards was trying to scare me into staying, but the joke’s on him,” he chuckled.

"Well, I suppose congratulations are in order," Draco said, swallowing down his fear and bitterness. "You look happy."

Harry’s grin grew broader—Draco didn’t even think that was possible. “I really am. This feels like what I’m meant to do, you know?”

“I wish I did.”

“The offer still stands…”

“Thank you, Potter. But honestly, who would keep the archives and lockup tidy if I left? The place would be a shambles.”

Draco traipsed back to his desk with heavy steps, the weight of all the thoughts buzzing around in his head was crushing him. As soon as he set foot into his cubicle, he was bombarded by a flock of urgent memos, so he gathered them up and started his daily task of opening and responding or assigning priority to each one. With each memo he read, his despondency grew; a demand for him to locate a case he’d already found last week; a request that he rewrite a report for a senior Auror with bad handwriting; a complaint about the lack of travel-quills in the supply cupboard—since when had he become responsible for office stationery? After the fifth or sixth request to find time to fix someone else’s poor penmanship, Draco threw every last memo to the floor and stood up. Why did he keep doing this every day? He was an Auror not everyone’s PA. And he was a bloody good Auror too, or at least he would be if they ever gave him a chance to prove himself. He was sick of seeing others given opportunities before him, get promoted before him, get pay rises and new desks before him. It wasn’t fair!

He was tired of always feeling unworthy, tired of doing everything for Scorpius and nothing for himself. He didn't even feel like he knew himself anymore. But now Harry had presented him with this solution that was not only perfect for Scorpius but could also be good for him...how could there not be a catch? There _had_ to be a catch.

He didn’t give it any more thought, letting his legs carry him along the familiar route without engaging his brain, until he was once again outside Harry’s office. He smoothed a hand through his hair and knocked smartly on the open door.

“Draco?”

“I’ll, um, just give you boys some space,” Johnson said. “Need a refill anyway. Can I get you anything? No? Okay then.” She slipped out of the office with a smirk.

As soon as she left, Draco pushed the door shut. It didn’t escape his notice that he was alone with Harry in his office for the second time in the space of a few hours, and he doubted it had gone unnoticed by others too.

"I'll do it. I'll help. I'll quit," he blurted.

Harry blinked a few times, and then stood, excitedly leaning across his desk. “What? Really? Are you serious?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I can’t take another minute in this shit hole.”

“But…I thought you loved your job?”

“Are you kidding me? I get treated worse than the criminals you lot arrest. I joined up to become an Auror—I want to be out in the field, making a difference in people’s lives. Do you really think I _wanted_ to sit behind a desk all day?”

Harry deflated. “But…you like paperwork, don’t you?”

“I hate it.”

“So, why did you always help with mine?”

“Because…because…” _because I’m secretly in love with you and would do anything to make you happy_. “It doesn’t matter. That’s irrelevant.” He hoped the flush on his cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Well, do you still want me to work at your school? If I’m entrusting you with my only child’s education, I think I would feel better if I could be there to make sure you don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes! Anything you want! This is going to be _so_ good. I’ll get you involved in the meetings and maybe you’d like some input on the curriculum? Turns out that sort of thing is wildly unregulated for wizarding schools—which is probably how someone like Agatha got away with being such a troll. Oh—I didn’t tell you, did I—she’s on probation, and she’s been stripped of her power of authority over the school. Kingsley’s dead set on getting her fired or having her ‘encouraged’ to take a position where she can’t influence children in any way, isn’t that great?”

Draco couldn't help but laugh at Harry's enthusiasm, and he didn't even care that he was getting swept up in it. Harry continued talking a mile a minute about his plans, and at some point, Johnson returned with coffee and a biscuit for them both, before slipping back out of the office. Draco pretended not to see the little thumb's up she threw at Harry, but it reinforced the thought that he'd made the right choice. 

Eventually, he had to go back to his desk; he wanted to hand in his notice by the end of the day, and for that to happen, he needed to write it first. He made it as far as the door before Harry stopped him.

“Hey, Draco, I know it’s probably highly unprofessional since we’re going to be starting a school together, but do you want to maybe get dinner with me tonight?”

Draco slowly turned and stared at him blankly, one hand on the door handle.

“I’m sure Ginny can babysit Scorpius if you need it. Al would love to see him again. He really misses his pal. And you. He actually told me he wished I was cool like Scorp’s dad the other day,” Harry said with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry, are you asking me out?” Draco asked, bewildered.

“Yeah? If you want to, I mean. No pressure. But… Al isn’t the only one who’s missed you.” He grinned, his eyes hopeful. 

Draco could practically hear Pansy screaming in his ear to accept. It was the thought of her rage if he managed to somehow screw this up that spurred him on to speak. “Okay, yes. Yes to everything, the babysitting, the dinner, the unprofessionalism. Let’s do this.”

“Brilliant!” Harry surged forward and threw his arms around Draco in a brief squeeze. “Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that for ages. Um,” he stepped back, looking incredibly flustered. “Floo over to the Burrow with Scorp around seven and we’ll take it from there, yeah?”

The smile didn’t leave Draco’s face for the rest of the day. He was even grinning inanely when he handed his notice into Robards, which earned him a very odd glare. He didn’t even care about the look of relief on Robards’ face when he realised what Draco had handed him. He had a new job, a date with Harry Potter, and his son had a school place. Everyone else could fuck off.


	13. Chapter 13

It was close to six by the time Draco finally got home, because Robards had wanted him to go through a mountain of ‘leavers’ forms before clocking out for the day and he instantly started panicking about only having an hour to get ready for his _date_. He doubted Harry had been subjected to the same torture, which was a bit of an oversight on their part since Harry might have reconsidered quitting if faced with the huge stack of parchment Draco had dutifully worked through. He felt a little silly getting so worked up since they’d been on plenty of _fake_ dates, the fact that he couldn’t play everything off as pretend added a new level of ‘terrifying’ to the evening. It was hard to believe it was actually happening, and if Harry hadn’t sent him a short note saying, _Looking forward to tonight! See you later, H x_ , he might have thought he’d imagined the whole thing. But he hadn’t. And now he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. He was tempted to Floo Pansy and ask for her help, but he didn’t think he could deal with the ‘I told you so’s’, so he panicked alone while Blippy, saint that she was, occupied Scorpius and prepared an overnight bag for him.

By five to seven, he and Scorpius were standing in his office. He gripped Scorpius’ small hand tightly in his own while the little boy positively vibrated with excitement. He’d been chattering non-stop since Draco told him about the sleepover with Albus, but now he was silent, the anticipation rendering him temporarily speechless. Draco kept his eyes on the clock above the mantelpiece and watched the seconds count down. Harry had said seven, and he didn’t want to be early. 

One minute to go. He looked down at Scorpius and smiled reassuringly, then grabbed a handful of Floo powder.

Thirty seconds to go. He took a breath and went over the address in his head for the hundredth time.

Fifteen seconds to go. He threw the powder into the flames, knelt down, and announced, “The Burrow.”

Molly Weasley’s face appeared after only a few moments. Draco tensed, expecting her to gasp in horror or close the connection but she just smiled warmly and invited him through. When he and Scorpius stumbled out of the fireplace into the Weasley’s front room, he came face-to-face with Harry and was struck dumb. He looked…stunning. That was the only word Draco’s mind would supply. He was wearing a tailored Muggle suit in a blue so dark it was almost black, a matching tie, and crisp, white shirt. He’d even tamed his hair, although it was still fairly wild, and trimmed his beard back so it was little more than stubble. Draco had never seen him looking so well put together. How on earth was he still single? And what in Salazar’s name was he doing taking Draco out on a date? He tried not to think too hard about what that stubble would feel like against his face or…lower.

“Harry!” Scorpius yelled, tugging his hand out of Draco’s grasp and darting towards Harry.

Draco broke out of his stupor just in time to grab the back of Scorpius’ shirt and stop him from planting sooty hand prints all over Harry’s delectable suit. Harry laughed and wandlessly vanished the soot from them both before crouching down and opening his arms to the small boy. He scooped him up and swung him round in a circle, much to Scorpius’ delight.

"Hi, Scorp! Good to see you. I've missed you, little man." Draco knees weakened at the sight of his son and his…his date? Love interest? Maybe-boyfriend? in a such a tender embrace. "Al and James are upstairs playing. Why don't you go up and find them," he said kindly, putting Scorpius back on the ground.

Scorpius squeaked and glanced quickly at Draco, searching for permission, before he darted up the stairs at Draco’s nod.

“Anyone would think he was excited to see Albus again,” Harry said fondly.

“He’s been bereft,” Draco sighed, staring after his son.

“Al too,” Harry agreed. “I’m sorry about, you know, everything.”

“It wasn’t all your fault. I didn’t have to go along with it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Potter, it’s fine. Let’s just agree that we both fucked up.”

Harry inhaled deeply through his nose, and Draco thought for sure he was going to press the issue, but then he slumped and shook his head, an amused smirk on his face. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. We’re both fuck-ups.”

“That’s not—” Draco protested, but Harry cut him off.

"Come on, we've got a reservation to make!" He crooked his elbow, inviting Draco to link arms, and after a moment's hesitation, Draco stepped closer and looped his arm through Harry's. Maybe he stood slightly closer than necessary, but he didn't have time to think about it before the familiar sensation of being dragged navel-first through a toilet roll swept through him.

Draco opened his eyes to find Harry had Apparated them to a quiet side street off Diagon Alley. They walked in companionable silence, Harry leading the way since he refused to tell Draco where they were going, and close enough that their knuckles brushed. The sensation sent thrills racing through Draco, his skin tingling with every accidental touch. He felt drunk from all the anticipation, the nerves, the excitement swirling around inside him. The knowledge that Harry really _liked_ him, and wasn't faking it, was like a drug, and everything felt more intense, so even things they'd faked before felt new and exciting. Not even the part-curious, part-horrified, part-disgusted passing stares were enough to take the shine off his mood. _Let them look_ , he thought smugly. He was the one Harry wanted. 

Feeling emboldened, and wanting there to be absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind as to the nature of their relationship, Draco took Harry’s hand in his and laced their fingers together. He felt, rather than heard, Harry’s faint gasp of surprise because his body stiffened for a fraction of a second, but then Harry squeezed his hand and Draco knew his gesture had been accepted.

Harry pulled them to a stop after a short walk and Draco smiled as he recognised the restaurant—it was the Thai place they’d visited on their very first date.

“I thought it was appropriate.” He shrugged. “I won’t order us anything too spicy this time, I promise.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I assure you I can handle as much heat as you, so no need to go easy on me, Potter. It just took me by surprise last time.”

“Whatever you say, Malfoy,” Harry retorted. He grinned and dragged Draco through the narrow doorway, then bounded up the stairs like an over-eager puppy, completely dispelling the illusion of sophistication that the suit created.

The interior of the restaurant was just as Draco remembered it, only this time he only had eyes for Harry rather than watching out for journalists. He’d been worried that they might struggle to find things to talk about with the added pressure of knowing there was something deeper between them than a simple arrangement, but things never once became uncomfortable. Harry spoke at length about his plan for the school, how many teachers he’d gotten on board, how many parents had expressed an interest in their children attending before he’d even advertised to the wider wizarding community. Draco couldn’t help but get swept up with his enthusiasm and found himself agreeing to help teach, despite never having had any training, in addition to promising to help Harry search for the perfect premises.

It was raining by the time they left the restaurant; big, fat raindrops that soaked through Draco’s light spring cloak in seconds. He’d cast an umbrella charm as soon as they stepped outside, but it did little to help protect against the rain splashing back from the walls or being whipped up by the wind, and he shivered as some rain trickled down the back of his neck. They stood huddled together under an overhanging storefront, the atmosphere between them as heavy as the clouds above, but neither of them made any move to leave. Draco shifted from foot to foot, and made several aborted attempts to speak, but he couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound either too desperate or too dismissive. He wanted to tell Harry how much fun he’d had, how he never wanted the night to end, how he could have sat in that restaurant with Harry until the end of time and still never have tired of staring into his eyes or holding his hand across the table. But he said nothing. What if Harry hadn’t enjoyed himself? 

“So…” Harry started, pushing his damp hair off his face only for the wind to blow it straight back into his eyes.

“So,” Draco said tightly, fully expecting Harry to say, _’This was great, but I think we’re better off as friends.’_

“Um, please tell me to fuck off if you want, but, uh…do you fancy coming back to mine? For a drink or…you know, whatever.” Harry shrugged, studying the wall over Draco’s shoulder.

Draco bit down on his lip to stop the broad smile that threatened to bloom across his face. “You’re inviting me back for a nightcap?”

“If you want to? It’s just…I’ve had a lot of fun tonight, and I’m not ready to say goodnight yet, but it’s too wet for a walk. So…what do you say?”

“That sounds—Oh, wait. What about the boys? Shouldn't we be getting back to relieve your ex-mother-in-law of them?"

“It’ll be fine. Molly’s not expecting us back.” Harry clapped a hand over his mouth and his eyes widened comically behind his glasses. “Shit! I mean—”

“Potter! How terribly presumptuous of you to think I’ll be out all night on a first date,” Draco cried in mock offence.

Harry laughed and playfully nudged Draco with his foot. “Fine, we can head straight back to the Burrow.”

“No, no. A nightcap at yours sounds good! Perfect, even. Lead on.” 

Harry laughed again and wrapped an arm securely around Draco’s waist. “Ready?”

He nodded dumbly. The last thing he saw before they Disapparated was Harry's bright green eyes fixed on his, his pupils blown wide.

If he didn’t have bruises on his shins from their hasty ascent of the stairs to Harry’s bedroom, Draco would be very surprised. Harry had crowded him against the wall the second they stumbled in through the front door. He couldn’t remember who had moved first but as soon as their lips met, he hadn’t cared. Harry devoured him; his mouth, his tongue, his teeth attacking Draco’s exposed skin. When they eventually made it up to bed, a trail of discarded clothes in their wake, Draco sank back onto the soft mattress and marvelled at how hungrily Harry looked at him. He felt desired and it was empowering. His body was on fire, lit up from within—he’d never craved anything more than he craved Harry’s presence above him, their bodies twined together. He hooked his hands behind Harry’s head and dragged their mouths together, and that was when he stopped thinking.

———

“Are you serious?” Harry asked, the slice of toast he’d about to bite into paused just before his lips as he gawked at Draco.

Draco hummed in agreement as he finished his own mouthful. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t serious. It’s not a fleeting thought. It’s actually been on my mind since you mentioned needing a premises. I believe it’s perfect for what you envisioned.”

“It really is, but, the Manor is your ancestral home. Where would you live? I don’t want to force you out.”

"Have you forgotten how big it is? It's far too large for Scorpius and me to live in alone and my parents are never coming back to the UK. Scorpius and I can continue living in the East wing, and your school can have the rest, along with access to the grounds. I won't be giving it up, I see it more as improving its legacy. I'd rather it was given purpose than left to languish." Draco paused, wondering how to phrase his next request. It was rather important, after all. "I do have one condition…"

“Anything. Anything you want, Draco.”

“Blippy stays. The Manor has been her home for over a hundred years, so I won’t see her forced out or made to feel unwelcome.”

“That's…yeah! Of course, she can stay. I'd never dream of making her leave. Should I offer her a job, or…?”

“I’ll talk to her. I doubt she’d accept it though. She’ll just be happy to see the Manor full of life again, and have more children to fuss over.”

Harry continued to stare at him in wonder. “This is…Wow. I just. Wow. I can’t believe you’re letting us use the Manor.”

Draco smiled around his mug of coffee. “My offer is entirely selfish, you realise. If the Malfoy name becomes associated with a fine educational establishment, it could be just enough to mask the stench caused by my Father’s actions. Scorpius might even grow to be proud of his name, and that’s the best legacy I can leave him.”

“Of course he will,” Harry said, reaching over and squeezing Draco’s hand. “It’s going to be amazing. Merlin, I’m so excited.” He took a large bite out his toast and jam, grinning around the mouthful.

There was silence for a few moments as they ate. Draco was thrilled Harry was so happy with his suggestion, but he couldn’t help wondering whether Harry had considered all the implications of using the Manor. He didn’t want to bring him down from his good mood, but he thought he had to bring it up.

“So, you really think it will work? I mean, the Manor doesn’t exactly have a good reputation, and with my name attached, it could put people off. I wouldn’t want to curse your project before it even gets started.”

“Hey, no, shut up. If people are going to be put off by a name, they’ve no place at the school, okay?”

Warmth blossomed in Draco’s chest at the determination in Harry’s expression. He’d been worried about suggesting the Manor, but once the words had left his mouth, he was certain that it was the perfect place for Harry’s school. 

“Hey, do you think maybe I can come over at the weekend and take a look? Get an idea of space and so on?” Harry asked.

“Certainly. Bring the boys, too—Scorpius is desperate to show Albus his toys, and I’m sure James would enjoy trying out the half-sized Quidditch pitch in the garden.”

Harry’s knife clattered to his plate, and he goggled at Draco with unabashed shock. “Fuck me,” he exclaimed breathily. 

“I believe you discovered last night that I prefer it the other way round…” Draco smirked.

“Merlin’s balls, you’re impossible,” Harry said fondly. “I can’t believe you’ve got your own Quidditch pitch.”

“ _Half-sized_. It’s really not that impressive,” he sniffed. “You’re welcome round anytime you like to use it.”

“I love you.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to blanch. “I’m sorry…what?” he spluttered.

“I was going to wait to tell you, but I just. I can’t. I hope it doesn’t scare you off because I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“If I’d known all it would take to seduce you was a Quidditch pitch, I’d have told you about it years ago,” he admitted.

“Years?”

Draco’s face flushed. “You didn’t hear that.” He focused on scraping up the last bit of egg with his toast, but he could feel Harry’s gaze on him the whole time. “Fine,” he mumbled when he looked up, “I may have been a teensy bit in love you for a little while, but don’t get cocky or I’ll take it back.”

Harry's delighted laugh melted the pout from Draco's face. He couldn't stay grumpy, not with so much to look forward to, and not with Harry. He finally had what he'd been dreaming about and for the first time, he was excited about the future. He had no idea if Harry's dream would be successful, but if anyone could open a wizarding primary school and make it work with absolutely no experience, it was Harry Potter, and Draco was certain would stay at his side for as long as he was wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ [coriesocks](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/coriesocks)


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